


It Takes Two to Tango

by quantum1342



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Asexual Castiel, M/M, Past Character Death, Sailing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 03:37:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2453264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantum1342/pseuds/quantum1342
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's been sailing small boats for a long time, basically his entire life. He lives and breathes it, even at this crappy little place. It's nothing like where he used to be, but that's alright. He could definitely use a little less of the fast-paced intensity that he's used to. So what if no one here actually knows what they're doing, or the boats needed replacement five years ago?<br/>But all good things must end, and this slams to a screeching halt when the new guy shows up. He's another one of those pretentious rich kids (I mean, who else would be named Castiel Fitzroy?), trained at the best place on the East Coast, and absolutely hates Dean with a passion. Which would normally be fine, except it takes two people to sail a boat, and guess who Dean's new partner is?<br/>That's right. The new guy. This is going to be a long summer...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Takes Two to Tango

**Author's Note:**

> So I guess a long line of thanks are in order. 
> 
> First goes to the DCBB mods, because you guys are awesome and I can't even imagine the amount of ridiculously tedious crap that you guys are going through right now (thanks to slackers like me).
> 
> Next goes to my (best friend?) and beta, [Lena](curiousscarletteyes.tumblr.com).
> 
> Then of course we have my fabulous artist, [disreputabled0g](http://disreputabled0g.livejournal.com/3366.html) who made some seriously awesome art for this fic. Seriously, you guys should check it out. He also served as the person who reminded me the day before my posting date that this challenge existed, and oh yeah, I still had fifty pages of word vomit to edit before it came time to post. Yeah, the past day or two have been fun. 
> 
> I feel like there's more people to thank, and I can't remember who else there is. It's probably you. Thank you for whatever it is you did. At least you clicked on the link to my stupid little fic, so that's actually worth kind of a lot too.
> 
> So now that all that stuff is out of the way, I feel the need to talk about this fic a little bit.  
> I am actually a sailor, and all of these experiences that Dean and CAs go through are things that have actually happened to people, and most of them happened to me. The settings are all real places, (though the only one that's actually accurate is MRYC because that's the only one I've ever been to) and the camp is based off the camp I used to go to a few years back (it's changed since then I think).
> 
> That being said, NO ORIGINAL CHARACTERS WERE BASED OFF REAL PEOPLE. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION, ANY RESEMBLANCE TO PERSONS LIVING OR DEAD IS ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL PLEASE DON'T SUE ME
> 
> There is also a glossary at the end if you feel really confused and motivated aren't you lucky.

“Sheet in your main,” Dean instructs.  
  
“What?” The girl gives him a look devoid of all possible understanding, and in doing so, she lets the tiller slide through her hand, allowing the boat to turn on its own. Luckily she notices this without even needing Dean to tell her, and corrects it quickly, putting them back on course. Not that it makes much of a difference, with the main sail flapping uselessly above their heads.  
“The main sail. Pull it in.”  
  
“Uh… Right.”  
  
Dean rolls his eyes. Clearly she isn’t understanding. “That,” he says, pointing emphatically at the sail above her. “Pull on this rope,” he says, grabbing it out of her hand and giving it a good yank. It pains him to do something as sacrilegious as to refer to the sheet as a ‘rope,’ but obviously he’s going to have to talk down to this girl.  
“Yeah, I know that. Sheesh.”  
  
“Yeah, you definitely had it under control.” Dean groans internally as he watches how she pulls in the line.  
Okay, so it is her first week sailing this kind of boat. But it’s not like it’s all that different from what she’s been doing for the past few years. Dean has no idea how she is considered good enough to be playing with the big kids, but apparently the staff sees something in her that Dean is totally missing.  
“So, um… Do you think we should tack?”  
  
“I don’t know, you tell me. You’re the skipper,” Dean tells her, his patience obviously wearing thin. In this class of boat, the crew (that’s Dean) is responsible for everything except the main sheet, the tiller, and the strategy. The first two things are relatively simple, exactly the same as every one-man small boat in existence. And with a crew as good as Dean, the third one wasn’t that hard either.  
Except apparently, it is that hard. Ever since joining this club, the skippers that Dean’s been sailing with have been nothing but an extra pair of hands and a few extra pounds to keep the boat from flipping over. And that’s at best. At worst, they’re complete imbeciles that are a danger to the equipment, themselves, and most importantly, Dean.  
“I think we should tack,” she decides.  
  
“Then tack.”  
  
At least she knows what this means. She can’t do any of the advanced techniques, but they can at least complete the maneuver without breaking anything. She pushes the tiller away from her and waits as the boat comes around, ducking under the boom as the weight of the sail brings the metal pole across. Dean does the same, while watching the second sail carefully. Once it starts to belly out in the wrong direction, he flicks its line out of the fastening and in one fluid motion he switches sides on the boat, using the opposite line to pull the sail across and secure it on the other side of the boat.  
Once upon a time, Dean sailed at SSA, the Severn Sailing Association. It’s difficult to get in and even harder to stay in, and Dean eventually decided that those guys were way too intense for him. Dean loves being out on the water, he loves the feeling of the wind in his face when he’s out on the trapeze and whipping across the river at a million miles an hour. What he does _not ___like is having to wake up at 5 AM to do a five-mile run before he could even start getting his boat rigged for the day. Yeah, SSA was not for him. But now he’s at the Miles River Yacht Club, one of the most chill clubs there is, and he hates it here too. Nobody here appreciates the sport. This girl he’s sailing with now admitted to him earlier today that she’s only doing this because her mom is making her. Stupid rich kids.  
  
The sail is over and Dean find himself thankful for it, right up until they get to the beach. This stupid girl just sits in the boat doing nothing except offer up a lame explanation about not wanting to be stung by jellyfish. Dean wouldn’t even mind it so much, except it means he has no help with getting the boat onto its trailer (yes, a real trailer, like the kind that would attach to the back of a car, and also the heaviest possible mode of transport for one of these boats) and then up the steep beach and all the way up the driveway.  
“It’s not good to sit in the boat while it’s on a dolly,” Dean tells her. Maybe it was a little snarkier than necessary, but then again, he’s dragging around 300 pounds of dead weight up an 100 foot driveway, and there aren’t even air in the tires.  
  
“This isn’t a dolly, it’s a trailer,” she corrects him.  
  
Dean stops in his tracks and considers dropping the trailer, but then it would slam into the ground and the boat would bounce and chip the fiberglass. These boats were shitty enough as it is. “Alright, well why don’t I hop into the boat and let you drag my heavy ass up in the _trailer_ ,” he spits back.  
  
She makes a face like she’s been offended, and Dean realizes she probably is. These rich kids are all so pampered, Dean doesn’t even know where to begin.  
  
But eventually he makes it up the hill without hurting any children or boats, and he’s working on getting the boat derigged and put away for the day when one of the instructors approaches him. “You wanna do the regatta at TAYC tomorrow?”  
  
Dean rubs at the back of his neck. “Tred Avon? Dude, if we try and go with the team we’ve got, we’re gonna embarrass the hell out of ourselves.”  
  
“I don’t think so.” The coach looks pretty excited with himself, like he’s got some big secret. Dean doesn’t trust it. “We’re getting a new guy here, tomorrow’s his first day. I was thinking you two could go.”  
  
“You want me to sail with some noob for the first time on Tred Avon’s cluster of a starting line? Yeah, ‘cause that’ll go real well…”  
  
“I think it will. He used to skipper at AYC, so he can’t be that bad.”  
  
Ah. There it is. The big secret. It’s almost worth the coach’s goofy presentation, and definitely takes Dean by surprise. “AYC?” Annapolis Yacht Club. Those guys are basically the best small boat sailors on the East Coast, and they make SSA look like a bunch of ten-year-olds doing their first capsize drill. Not that you’d guess it from their attitude. No, they make it seem like they’re about ten times better than they are, they’re that douchey.  
  
Dean knows he’s good, and he knows that this new guy probably won’t be expecting that. It might be fun to knock him down a peg or two. “Yeah, alright,” Dean says with a mischievous smile. “Wouldn’t want to let your guy down.”  
  
******  
  
Dean knows that he tends to rig things in backwards order, putting the mainsail up before tensioning the jib. He honestly can’t say why people don’t do it his way, since it makes it a hell of a lot easier to get the main up high enough.  
  
Apparently his new skipper thinks differently. “Now how do you intend on tensioning the jib?”  
  
Dean doesn’t look up at the owner of the gravelly voice, deciding that the dude is too much of a jackass to be worth it. “Like this, asshole.” Dean’s thankful that he’s able to do it without completely embarrassing himself (because that would be just his luck), and it’s actually pretty damn perfect. He stands up and flicks a shroud, letting the satisfying twang of the mast support wire prove his point. “So, you’re my new partner?”  
  
“No. I’m the skipper of this boat, and you’re my crew.”  
  
Dean nods slowly. The sass is strong with this one. “…Right.” He shrugs and then looks out at the blue TAYC flag flying from the committee boat. Dean watches the flag as the boat comes to a stop to set one of the marks in the course.  
  
“What are you looking out there for?”  
  
Dean sighs. He’s known this guy for all of twelve minutes, and already he’s thinking that he would prefer the dumb girls from MRYC. At least Dean knows they probably would help him if they could. “You can tell from the flag what the wind is like. Gotta trim your highness’ sails right, now don’t I?” He gives a mock bow, then turns back to the boat and starts messing with all the random little lines that lesser sailors don’t know what to do with. Outhaul, boom vang, cunningham, halyard tension, all in quick succession until the mainsail looks exactly how he wants it. “Want me to get spin rigged up?”  
  
The skipper rolls his eyes. Obviously he’s not impressed. “This is a trapezoid course. That means two reaching legs. Of course I want you to rig the spinnaker.”  
  
“Well, you know, there’s some guys that think it ain’t worth the effort…”  
  
“I want you to understand something. Last week, I was placing first in the fleet at the Annapolis Yacht Club. Do you know what that means?”  
  
“Yea-- Wait, _first_? That’s-”  
  
“That means,” the guy interrupts, “That I am used to sailing with people far better than you. It also means that I know more about how to run these boats than you ever will. You can assume from now on that I want everything you have.” The way the guy is speaking, it doesn’t sound like he’s trying to be malicious. More like he just doesn’t know how to say it nicely. But that doesn’t mean that Dean can’t pretend to take offence to it. It’s what the guy deserves.  
  
“Alright. If I’m so dumb, then why don’t you just singlehand the damn thing?”  
  
“Because I don’t have the--”  
  
Dean rolls his eyes. “ _Because_ it takes two to tango, jackass.” He rigs the spinnaker sullenly, and refuses to talk to his partner for the rest of the morning.  
******  
  
When they finally get out onto the water, Castiel (or something like that. Dean saw the name when they registered) takes them in a different direction than the rest of the fleet. Currently they have the handicap of never having sailed together in their entire lives, which is why they’re heading out away from the starting line to make at least one short run together before it’s time to do it for points.  
  
It turns out that despite their total incompatibility personality-wise, it takes less than about five minutes to get into a rhythm and realize that they’re an amazing team on the water. Dean thought the hardest thing about this would be establishing good communication, but they don’t need to. They hardly need to say a word, that’s how in tune they are. And as they approach the starting line, Dean can’t help but admire the way the way the guy handles the boat. Not that he’d ever admit it.  
  
The final blast from the air horn on the committee boat signifies the start, and Castiel has them on the course immediately. A perfect start, in Dean’s opinion, yet he can hear the guy muttering to himself about how badly done it was. Dean can’t stop himself from chuckling. “Oh yeah. Real loser, that one. We’re never gonna be able to come back from that.” They have a clear lead, but Castiel still turns around to make sure, as though he’s taking Dean seriously.  
  
“Focus, Dean.”  
  
Dean just shakes his head and shifts his focus out onto the water. It’s amazing to be able to really read the wind and get to worry about all the things he should be worried about, instead of having to make sure his skipper doesn’t randomly start sending the boat in the wrong direction. Dean’s grinning like an idiot because for the first time in this boat’s life, it’s being sailed like it should be.  
  
They win first place by a wide margin, and Castiel seems to think that they even set a course record. Not that Dean believes it. There’s no way that TAYC is that organized.  
  
Still, the skipper doesn’t believe him and disappears to go badger the yacht club’s historian, leaving Dean to get the boat derigged and loaded up on the trailer (which, is not actually the same trailer that they use for a dolly at the club).  
  
Castiel gets back just as Dean finishes. Dean’s not convinced that the guy didn’t do it on purpose, but it’s not like this isn’t something Dean’s used to.  
  
After a couple moments, it becomes clear that Castiel is too busy staring into space to start any kind of conversation, so that must be on Dean too. “So, you used to sail at AYC? Not bad, man. Why’d you transfer?”  
  
“I didn’t do it willingly,” Castiel tells him. He doesn’t look up from whatever he is staring at, doesn’t make any eye contact with Dean. Clearly this guy needs to learn how to have a conversation. “If I had my choice I’d still be sailing for Annapolis.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “I used to sail for SSA, but I decided they were too douchey for me. Too dedicated to their cause, you know?”  
  
“There’s no such thing as too much dedication,” Castiel replies, walking away.  
  
Dean watches him go into the registration tent to file a protest even though they won the whole event, and decides there’s no way the two of them are ever going to be friends


	2. You Can't Say Ping Pong Doesn't Matter

The next day finds Dean managing a class of younger kids. There is absolutely no wind today, not even the occasional puff. The other kids at Dean’s level are going on their weekly visit to the small beach on the other side of the river, but due to the lack of wind, they’re all piling onto the coach’s powerboat and getting driven over. Dean doesn’t really feel like doing that, so he’s here instead. It’s because he loves sailing, and knows that once most of the spoiled rich kids get up to his level, they don’t feel the kind of love for the sport that Dean does. All he’s teaching now is one lesson on the basics, but he’s hoping that maybe he can inspire at least one kid not to have the love of sailing sucked out of them by their peers.  
  
Castiel is somewhat skeptical, but he didn’t want to go the Leed’s Creek either, so he’s sitting in the back of the classroom sulking. Dean decides not to let his partner’s bad mood get to him as he draws out the shape of a boat on the whiteboard. These kids sail a different type of boat from Dean and Castiel; only one person, and the boats are designed for kids younger than about 15.  
  
“Okay, so. Who can tell me what your boats are called?”  
  
The kids start shouting out the individual names of their boats, and Dean chuckles. “No, I mean what type.”  
  
There’s a collective ‘oh’ around the room as they kids realize their mistake. “So I guess none of you know?”  
  
Apparently they do. They’re all talking at once, trying to be heard. Dean thinks he can hear the answer in there, but with kids it’s impossible to tell.  
  
“Hey, hey,” Dean says, putting his hands up. “All I’m hearing is this,” he says, and then yells in unintelligible gibberish while waving his hands around above his head.  
  
The kids laugh, then work it out among themselves as to who will be the the spokesperson. Eventually the answer comes out. “It’s an opti!”  
  
Dean grins, snapping his fingers and pointing at the kid. “Wrong. It’s a floating bathtub.” More laughter from around the room, and Dean doesn’t miss the way that Castiel’s scowl grows slightly less pronounced. Probably his version of a smile. “But yeah, you’re right. It’s an opti.”  
  
“So,” he continues. “What can you guys tell me about your optis?”  
  
“It’s got a sail.”  
  
“Right. Tell me about the sail.”  
  
The kids explain to Dean in detail how to rig the sail, and he nods in approval. “Alright, looks like you guys know your sh-- stuff,” he says, grinning. “Okay, so now we’re going to play a game. If Grumpy would be willing to assist me…” He gestures towards Castiel, who gives him a look that says: ‘Why are you pulling me into your antics?’ But he sighs and stands up anyway, standing where Dean positions him.  
  
“Okay,” Dean tells the kids. “Cas here--”  
  
“Castiel,” he interrupts quietly.  
  
“Right, sorry.” He’s not sorry. “So anyway, we’re gonna pretend that Castiel is the wind. And…” He selects three kids and has them stand in a line, one after the other. “And you guys are gonna pretend to be a boat. So whichever way you guys are facing is where the boat is facing. Everyone got it?”  
  
They all nod yes.  
  
“Okay. What we're gonna practice now is point of sail. Which means basically... If the wind is going a certain direction, I'm gonna put my sail a certain way, and that's called point of sail. So. If I point you guys like this…” He points the kids directly at Castiel. Directly into the wind. “We got a problem here. Right? What’s our problem?”  
  
One of the other kids raises her hand, and Dean asks her to give the answer. “They’re facing right at the wind. The boat won’t go.”  
  
“Exactly. The wind is what makes your boat go forward, it basically pushes your boat through the water.” Not true, but Dean can’t really explain the physics of the thrust and aerodynamics of a sail to a bunch of nine-year-olds.  
  
"Alright, now what if I do this?" He turns the kids so that they're facing about thirty degrees off of Castiel.  
  
"You're going upwind," Castiel prompts them, without really giving them a chance to respond. Dean wishes he hadn’t given away the hint, but oh well. The kids are at least nodding with understanding. When prompted, they tell Dean that going upwind means they have to put the sail so the end of it is right over top of the back corner of the boat.  
  
“Yeah, more or less.” He sends the kids back to their seats, but has Castiel stay where he is.  
  
“Now, I'm gonna let you guys in on a secret." He says it in a hushed voice, one that has them looking at each other, then expectantly up at Dean. "When figuring out where to put your sail, all that stuff they tell you about putting the end over the corner and stuff like that, it’s just a starting point. The only way to do it right is to look at your sail." Dean grabs a chair and sits down, holding a pretend tiller and main sheet and looking up at an imaginary sail.  
  
"You know how sometimes your sail gets really flappy? That’s called luffing, and it means your sail's too loose. So what do you do? Well, you gotta pull it in." He makes the motions with his hands, slowly pulling in the pretend sail. "Just until it stops luffing.”  
  
He looks up and sees that the kids are following him so far. Awesome, he didn’t expect that. “But you can also have sails that are too tight. And the way to fix that," he says, his voice soft, “is to just let out out a little bit of sail..." He lets the imaginary line slip slowly through his fingers. "Just until you see the slight flap in the sail. Then you pull it in just enough for that to stop."  
  
The kids nod, and Dean knows most of them get it. There's a few that don't, but that's okay. At this level it’s more about playing camp-type games and getting them out in a physical boat every couple of days. They don’t really need to know the more detailed techniques of sail trim yet.  
  
Dean grins and gets three more kids to make a new kidboat, and drills them on different points of sail until another instructor relieves him. "There's some air out there now if you guys want to get get a little light wind practice. Allen is taking his kids out so as long as you stick close to them it should be good."  
  
Dean thanks her and leads Castiel out of the classroom and down to the shed, where the boats are waiting outside. "Should I bother rigging?"  
  
Castiel is already walking to retrieve the whiteboard he uses to meticulously plan their practices out. Talk about OCD. “Yes. And do try to avoid twisting the spin lines this time."  
  
Dean laughs as he goes into the shed to get the sails.  
  
******  
  
Dean is squatting in the center of the boat, regretting not having brought a towel or something to sit on. There is a place here for him to sit, but it’s covered in jam cleats and they dig into his butt in the worst way.  
  
"'Oh yeah, there's air out here,'" Dean says in a mocking tone. "'It's just 'cause there's no wind on shore, that's all. It'll pick up once you get out there, don't worry!' Bullshit."  
  
Castiel doesn't say anything as he looks disdainfully at a powerboat that has just driven past. The waves it created aren't that large, but with the weather the way it is now, it'll be enough to knock out what little wind they have in their sails.  
  
Dean rocks the boat as the waves come, using his weight to ease the boat up and over so it doesn't slam down on the water. It's a technique that supposedly keeps the air in the sails when going over waves like this, and it works perfectly when it's heavy wind and chop. But obviously the only thing it's doing for them now is minimizing the amount of bruising they get on their butts as the boat comes over the back of the wave.  
  
Dean shifts as he takes his place back in in the middle of the boat, wiggling his butt slightly in an effort to find that sweet spot where the bones of his butt were in between the cleates. Still uncomfortable, but not actively painful.  
  
"That looks uncomfortable," Castiel comments. He doesn't sound either sarcastic or sympathetic, he's just simply observing.  
  
Dean nods, sitting up so he can make an adjustment to the Cunningham. "Tell me about it."  
  
"Well, those jam cleats would dig into the the muscles of your legs and buttocks, and being hunched over like that to avoid the swing of the boom cannot be good for your back-"  
  
He's cut off by Dean laughing. "Dude, it's just an expression."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You know..." He can see from the skipper's expression that he doesn't. "It means like... 'Yeah, I already know more about it than you already could.' I guess." Dean shrugs. "It's sarcastic."  
  
"Oh. Of course." Castiel leans back briefly to stretch, and Dean barely has time to respond to the shift in the weight to keep the boat flat.  
  
"Dude."  
  
Castiel ignores him. "I've never seen the point in sarcasm," he says. "Why say something when you mean the opposite? Why not just say what you mean?"  
  
Dean stares at him. "Are you serious? Oh, dude. You can't just-" He looks up at him. "You are serious, aren't you?"  
  
"Why wouldn't I be?" Castiel responds, before deciding to gybe (without telling Dean). The light-hearted conversation is over, because now Dean is pissed.  
  
Once they get their new heading, he turns to glare at Castiel. Then he changes his mind, deciding words just aren’t going to cut it. He throws his weight to to the side of the boat, making it list sharply to the side. Castiel doesn't look very comfortable with having his butt practically in the water, and scrambles to the center of the boat, holding the tiller awkwardly behind him so he can glare daggers at Dean. "Are you insane?"  
  
"Yeah, I am. But I don't just go gybing out of nowhere. That's seriously not cool, man. You know how fast the boom can swing across? That's the shit that kills people." He's glaring at Castiel, who glares back up at him for a moment. Then for some reason, the guy actually backs down.  
  
"Yes, I understand. You're right, Dean. I'll warn you from now on."  
  
And he doesn't even sound condescending.  
  
******  
  
"Can you explain something to me?"  
  
Dean stops checking the rigging and turns to his little brother. "Yeah, man. What do you need?"  
  
"So... our coach was saying that because of the heavy wind we might need to 'hike out' today because of the wind, but I didn't really know what he meant, and he didn't explain it really well..."  
  
Dean chuckled. "Yeah, man. Of course." He motioned for Sam to come over and look inside Dean's boat. It's pretty high off the ground in the trailer, and at 4'10", Sammy can barely see over the edge. "See these straps?"  
  
Sam finally has to stand on tiptoes to see the black straps in the bottom of the boat. "Yeah, mine has ones like that. What are they for?"  
  
Dean grins at him. "So... okay. You know when the wind gets blowing and it starts to tip your boat over?"  
  
Sam nods.  
  
"So what hiking out does is it keeps your boat flat so you don't capsize. Plus, flat is fast."  
  
Sam nods. "Okay, makes sense..."  
  
"So how it works is you use your weight to do that."  
  
"Uh... 'Kay..." Sam says in that way that tells Dean he doesn't get it at all. "How do I do that?" He asks slowly.  
  
"You hook your toes under the straps, get your butt as far back as it'll go-"  
  
"Outside the boat?"  
  
"Hell yeah, outside the boat! You know, assuming you need it. You kind of mix and match match the different things you can do until you get your weight right."  
  
Sam nods. "Right. Okay, sorry. Continue."  
  
"Right, so. You get your butt back, and then you lean back on the boat. Your feet under the straps keep you from falling out, but you wanna be as flat with respect to the boat as possible. That's where my six-pack comes from." He says that last sentence a little louder, seeing Cas walk by.  
  
"Please refrain from flirting until you have the boat rigged," Castiel tells him stiffly, before walking away.  
  
Dean watches him as he leaves, chuckling softly. Castiel isn't a morning person, Dean's learned that in the past week of them working together. He has no idea how the guy survived at AYC, where he would’ve had to be up at 5 AM every morning.  
  
"Dean," Sammy was saying, pulling at his arm to turn his attention back to him and the boat. "Jeez, you'd think you like him or something."  
  
"What? No, dude. He hates me."  
  
"Doesn't mean you don't like him."  
  
Dean thinks about this. "I guess if he didn't have that stick up his ass all the time he wouldn't be too bad..." He shrugs, which only makes Sam laugh.  
  
"You know what? If you're just gonna laugh at me, why don't you go get your boat rigged up?"  
  
Sammy pulled a face, but went in to go do it.  
  
"Sail ties tight, Sammy!" Dean yells after him.  
  
Sam’s response (“Don’t call me ‘Sammy’!”) drifts back, and Dean can't help but smile. He's in a good mood for the rest of the morning.  
  
******  
  
The wind is indeed heavy today, although heavy is a relative term. It's maybe 10 or 15 knots out in the river, so it's enough to get some good hiking in.  
  
Castiel surveys Dean's rigging, flicking one of the shrouds to check the jib tension. "Can't we tighten these supports?" he asks, picking at the tape that prevents them from messing with any of that stuff.  
  
"Nope. They're worried we'll screw up their boat," Dean says with a laugh. He slaps the hull, and both boys internally cringe at the sound. This boat is old, and even though it's the best one out of the fleet here (the other one has a pretty major leak), it's still pretty crappy.  
  
Castiel just grunts. "They should know that we know what we're doing," he says, before stomping off. Dean watches him, chuckling a little. He feels bad for whichever coach Castiel finds to terrorize about the shrouds.  
  
Then Dean realizes what Castiel just said.  
  
'We know what we're doing.'  
  
 _'We.'_  
  
Dean remembers their first meeting, how adamant Castiel was that Dean knew absolutely nothing. Now Dean 'knows what he's doing.' Castiel probably isn't even aware of how his words make Dean feel incredibly accomplished, despite having done nothing special. There's been no difference in this from sailing for SSA.  
  
Except he and Cas worked better as a team the first day they met than Dean had worked with his old skipper after six weeks of 16-hour days. And in this past week, Dean's learned a great deal about him. He's not a morning person, his last name is Fitzroy ('Really? Fitzroy?' 'It means 'son of the king', Dean. It's meant to be regal.' 'Oh, it's regal, alright.'), he was AYC's prodigy before moving, he has a thing for bees, and despite acting like a hard-ass goal-driven racer, he has a love for sailing similar to Dean's own. All that's left is to get him to loosen up, possibly introduce him to the wonders of pie and classic rock, and then-  
  
"Dean. Are you ready?"  
  
Dean starts as Cas interrupts his thoughts. "What? Uh, yeah." He does a quick jumping jack-arm stretch thing, then grins at Cas. "I'm always ready to go."  
  
Castiel rolls his eyes, then scans the driveway to determine if they can get their boat out to the ramp without running over the young opti kids. He decides they can make it, and directs Dean to move out.  
  
Dean's just started to edge the boat down the ramp when Cas tells him to stop. Dean throws his weight back, putting all of it against the boat to keep gravity from taking over and pulling the boat unto the water. Cas darts out in front of him, and Dean groans. "Dude, get out of there!" He yells. He's losing the battle, the boat is sliding down towards Cas. The guy doesn't even look up; he's fishing around in the water for something.  
  
"Cas, fucking _move_!" Dean yells, ignoring the dirty look a parent gives him. Cas glances up and sees that Dean can't hold the boat and steps back out of the way just before the handle slips out of Dean's hands and the boat trundles down the ramp into the water. Dean looks at Cas, and sees him holding a horseshoe crab. "Dude! What the-" he looks at at the kids staring at them, then leans close to hiss into Cas's ear. "What the fuck?"  
  
Castiel frowns at him, clearly not approving of his tone or choice of words. He holds up the horseshoe crab as though it were the only explanation needed. "You were about to run over it."  
  
Dean raises an eyebrow. This is an interesting side of Cas, the quirkier side that likes bees and cares about the dumb horseshoe crab that almost got crushed by the trailer.  
  
But there’s people waiting to launch and the horeshoe crab has now been moved to safety, so Dean decides to roll his eyes and work on launching the boat. He stows the trailer while Cas holds the boat in place. Then Dean yells to Cas to get in the boat and launch, despite being about twenty feet away from the boat ramp. The wind is in the perfect direction for this.  
  
Cas gives him a look, but launches anyway, managing to get both sails under control on his own -something that was almost impossible to do- and starts working on getting down the daggerboard.  
  
Dean waits until Cas gets going, then runs. He runs down the dock at full speed then makes a flying leap, jumping a solid eight feet across the water and landing with a thud in the boat. He cuts his shin on one of the cleats, laughing loudly at the look on the coach's face. "We should launch like that every time. You know, minus the whole almost-getting-killed-chasing-a-crab thing."  
  
Castiel turns to look behind him at the coach and one of of the camp officials. "They don't seem too happy with that."  
  
"You and I are are the best sailors in this whole damn club. What are they gonna do, say 'oops, sorry guys. Go try your luck with Tred Avon.'" He chuckles.  
  
"Don't become complacent."  
  
Castiel shifts his weight slightly up to the front of the boat to make the whole thing more balanced. Their sides are pressed together, shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip, thigh-to-thigh. But there's nothing weird about it, not really. This is how it's supposed to be done, and Dean's sat like this with about eight different people at SSA. No one here at MRYC does it properly, they're all afraid of cooties or something. But Dean finds that he's more aware of it than he should be, especially with the wind picking up like this. Hell, maybe he is becoming complacent.  
  
But there's no time to think about that as they get out of the protected zone of the river and the wind picks up. Dean doesn't even think as he scoots his butt back and gets his feet hooked under the hiking strap. He loosened the straps this morning, which means that he can basically plank his body and get farther out than before. The wind picks up some more and he starts leaning back back to counter it.  
  
"Heading up," Cas tells him, and as one they both smoothly trim their sails in as the boat turns closer to the wind. A hard beat upwind is Dean's favorite point of sail. It feels the fastest and he can hike out the most. It's made even better by the fact that that was probably the smoothest transition Dean had ever done, including his time at SSA.  
  
He scoots back on the boat a little more and leans back, his body out at about about a 45 degree angle to the water. He's not back enough yet for the spray to start hitting him, but he can see from the change in the ripples of the water that the wind is gonna pick up ahead. "Puff!" He calls to Cas. Even though they're less than three feet away from each other, the noise of the water makes it difficult to hear. "Five, four, three, two..."  
  
Then they hit it, and Dean had to throw his weight all the way back to keep the boat flat. An old, two-inch-wide strap and one thin 3/8 inch line are all that's keeping Dean tied to the boat right now. The edge of the hull comes up about six inches above his knees; the rest of his body is outside. He's using using the line in his hand as leverage to try and pull the boat back in his direction, without actually putting more tension on the line. Not an easy trick, but one he's figured out over the years. It's all about the angles.  
  
But Dean isn't paying attention to that stuff. He does it automatically. What he's paying attention to now is the feeling. The feeling of flying over the water at a million miles an hour, the waves coming up one after another and crashing over the front of the boat, slowly filling it with water. They spray is jumping up and hammering Dean's face, making his eyes sting from the salt. But he loves it. There's no way to describe how much he loves this. Flying over the water, harnessing and owning the untamable wind, making it his to command.  
  
A wave comes up and for a moment, Dean is completely weightless. He’s suspended in an underwater world, and it’s warm and dark and all around him. Then he comes back up and the cold hits him, whipping away the water in sheets and Dean’s cheering, letting out a yell of excitement, of happiness. This is his world, he’s in his element now.  
  
"Tacking!" Cas yells to him.  
  
"No, wait! There's a puff up ahead, we can roll it."  
  
Cas waits until they hit it. Dean's leaning back, getting his center of gravity as far away from the boat as possible. Then Cas tacks. Dean waits until the right moment, then hooks his ankles through the hiking straps and throws his weight back, dunking himself under the water again and bringing the boat with him. Then he pops up and immediately slams his weight to the other side, all while changing the sail over.  
  
"You certainly know how to rolltack," Cas comments once they get stable again. Dean's still hiked out almost all the way, but that doesn't mean he can’t hold a conversation.  
  
"Sure do. I know know the how and the when, but still not totally clear on the why."  
  
"It makes the tack smoother. Similar to having banked turns for a car, it allows the boat to maintain more speed as it comes around."  
  
"Oh, I get it." The wind slacks for a moment and Dean has to sit up suddenly to prevent them from capsizing to windward. That's one of the most embarrassing things that can happen to a sailor.  
"You should pay attention, Dean."  
  
"Hey, I can read the waves better than you," Dean says, going back again. "Pardon me if I missed something while trying to entertain you."  
  
"I have no need of additional entertainment," Castiel replies. And Dean doesn't even care that he seems like he has a stick up his ass, he's too at ease like this. There's no time that Dean Winchester is more relaxed than when he's hiked out on a windy day with a good skipper abaft him.  
  
They keep going upwind, tacking back and forth in a zigzag pattern until Dean hears the coaches yelling at them to come back. They're all going to do a race course, apparently. Dean knows Cas hates racing with these guys, because none of them know how to handle a boat. Dean has to agree.  
  
But they turn around anyway. The action requires very little communication anymore, they both know each other well enough to know what to do.  
  
Another look and a nod, and they both know to get the spinnaker flying. Cas pulls the line to get the sail up and starts using the small sheets to get the sail inflated while Dean gets to work connecting the spin pole.  
  
The spinnaker is the most temperamental sail on any type of boat, whether it's a 75-foot America's Cup schooner, or a 14-foot C420. The way Dean describes it is 'a giant plastic bag suspended in front of the boat by a pole and a piece of string that bitches a lot. The sail, not the string.' Once Dean has the pole set up, he sits back up on the side. Normally there's not enough power on the sails for him to sit up here but with the wind like this, Dean knows they're gonna need it.  
  
He’s right. He’s grateful for his sailing gloves protecting his hands as the skinny spinsheet bites into his palm. He can only imagine what that would be like with bare skin. Not pleasant. But despite the sail being a bitch to control (like always), he still feels the sense of tranquility pass over and into him, settling into his bones. The wind doesn’t feel as strong, the boat doesn’t feel like it’s moving as fast. All the other little things going on around the boat are no longer any of his concern, and so they all fall away until the only thing left is to stare at that sail, the big red and white plastic bag hanging over the boat, and making sure it stays full.  
  
He doesn’t know how long they’re on this leg before Cas speaks again. “Heading up. We’re gonna stow the spin.”  
  
The boat comes to life in an instant. In a flurry of movement, Cas takes over the spin sheets as Dean leaps forward and takes down the pole. “We’re good!” Then Cas drops the spin sheets and undoes the line holding the sail up, and Dean starts grabbing it in handfuls and yanking it down, stuffing it into its bag. Then Dean regains control of the jib, grabbing the line and pulling it in tighter by scooting his weight back so that by the time the boat comes around, he’s ready to hike out.  
  
A good team can take the spin down and get a stable upwind leg going in about a minute and a half in this kind of wind. Dean and Cas do it in less than 30 seconds.  
  
******  
  
Dean’s been watching some of the middle school-age kids play ping-pong for about 20 minutes now. The ping-pong table is located right next to the snack shack inside the pool gates, which in turn is right below the classroom. Normally Dean would jump in the pool to cool off, but he got wet enough today, and plus he really doesn’t want to have to do the obligatory pre-pool rinse-off that the lifeguards require. Something about how the river water mixing with the pool water fucks up the pH. Dean thinks it’s a stupid rule, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have to follow it. Hence why he’s sitting on a picnic table getting really into watching a bunch of 13-year-olds beat each other up with ping-pong paddles.  
  
“Alright, I got next game,” he says, standing up. “Meaning I’m gonna be up against you,” He says, pointing to one of the kids. The rest of the kids make amazed faces, and there’s more than one ‘oooooh, burn!’  
  
It turns out Dean’s wrong about who was going to win, earning him not one, but two whacks in the back of the head with the paddle. “Help! They’re murdering me!” The lifeguard looks over at Dean.  
  
“You probably deserve it,” the dude says with a grin, then goes back to making sure kids don’t shit in the pool, or whatever the hell it is lifeguards do.  
  
Dean just laughs and goes back to playing ping-pong. He’s actually a decent player, and it doesn’t take long to establish that Dean’s better than everyone here. At one point, they have Dean on one side of the table with one paddle, and the other three paddles are in three different kids’ hands as they play against Dean, periodically tapping each other out. At least this way it’s somewhat fair…  
  
Until there’s a new kid with a paddle that’s actually good. Dean looks up and sees- Well, of course. It’d have to be him, wouldn’t it? “Heya, Cas,” Dean says, hitting the ball back to him.  
  
“This makes eleven times I’ve had to tell you to call me Castiel.”  
  
“Oh, come on, man! Get that stick out of your a- butt.” Damn these kids and their innocence, it was such a pain.  
  
“The last time I checked, there were no branches lodged in my anus.”  
  
That makes Dean snort, and he’s so busy laughing that he misses an easy shot. Then he watches in slow motion as the ball bounces once, twice, and then right into the pool. Which makes Dean laugh even more. “You know what? I think we can be friends after all, because you’re friggin’ hysterical.” He’s grinning even as Cas frowns at him.  
  
“I do not appreciate your condescension.”  
  
“No, dude. I’m being serious. And you wanna know the first thing my new best friend would do?”  
  
“Seeing as I’m not your-”  
  
“He’d go get that ball.” Dean grins, and Castiel just rolls his eyes.  
  
“It’s not my fault you missed it.”  
  
“Actually, it kind of is, but whatever.” Dean shrugs, then yells to his brother. “Hey, Sammy! C’mere!”  
  
Sam groans, but gets up and makes his way over to Dean. “What do you need this time?”  
  
“You wanna go get the ball that Cas hit into the pool?”  
  
“I did no such thing,” Cas argues, but Dean just waves him off.  
  
“Don’t listen to him, Sammy. He’s dumb. So, you’ll get the ball, right?”  
  
Sam groans, but turns and does it.  
  
Dean takes the ball and thanks him, grinning at the group as he walks away. “Brothers can be a pain in the butt, but you gotta admit. Sometimes they’re awesome.” He grins, and hits the ball. They both watch, motionless, as it bounces neatly into Cas’s court and then back out again.  
  
“And by your logic that would be your fault,” Cas tells Dean, looking him right in the eye.  
  
There’s a moment of awkward eye contact between them, except it isn’t awkward. It’s just intense. Cas’s eyes are blue. They’re probably the bluest fucking things Dean’s ever seen, and he’s caught in them. Cas is staring at him, looking past his eyes and into Dean’s very soul. He’s stripping past all the layers, all the fake identities, all the lies Dean’s told people, all the lies he’s told himself, all of it. He looks past everything until he’s looking at Dean’s very essence. Everything Dean is, everything he’s been, and everything he will ever be. Cas can see it.  
  
There’s a cough, and they both break eye contact. And now it’s awkward. At least it is for Dean, but Cas doesn’t seem to have a ‘shame’ filter.  
  
And maybe Dean doesn’t either, because he doesn’t hide the way he stares at Cas, watching the other guy sigh and go outside the the chain link fence surrounding the pool to go and retrieve the ball. He watches the way he moves, how he just sort of floats from place to place. He watches how the muscles move under the skin of his tanned arms, wondering what’s hidden beneath the thin cotton T-shirt. He sees his powerful legs from the one-size-too-small swim trunks, and holy shit does that guy have an ass.  
  
“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you like him,” said one of the girls.  
  
“Well, yeah. He’s my skipper, we’re a team. I kinda have to like him.”  
  
“No, she means… like like.”  
  
Dean rolls his eyes. Fucking rich pampered middle school girls. “Yeah, right. Obviously I got a gay thing for my skipper who, by the way, hates me.”  
  
The girls look at him. “He doesn’t hate you. He literally won’t talk to anyone else here unless he’s yelling at them. He won’t give us the time of day, but he talks to you.”  
  
Dean rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” He sees his dad’s car roll up to come and take them to the motel just outside of town. “Gotta go, guys. See ya.” And so Dean finds Sam and then leaves, and completely misses the momentary look of disappointment in Cas’s eyes when he comes back from getting the ball to realize that Dean’s left without letting him know.


	3. It Sucks That Things Break When They're Old

Dean grins when he sees Sammy getting his boat ready for the race at CYC tomorrow. “Hey, little brother. Look at you, getting your boat all prettied up for the race.”  
  
Sam looks up at him, kind of uncertainly. “Uh, yeah...”  
  
“What? You worried about it or something?”  
  
“Well, yeah. I mean, You’re kind of a tough act to follow, Dean. Everyone’s gonna expect me to do really well since I’m your brother, and--”  
  
“Hey, cool it,” Dean tells him. He knows where this is going and doesn’t feel like waiting for it to get there. “You’re in the Green Fleet, that’s the lowest level there is. There is no way you’re gonna be the worst one out there. Just make sure you don’t break anyone’s boat on the starting line, and you’ll be fine.”  
  
“Uh, yeah…” The kid chuckles nervously. “But the thing is, I’ve never actually done a start before…” Sam is shuffling his feet like it’s his fault that his coach never taught him how to start.  
  
“What, really?”  
  
“Kinda, yeah. How does it even work? Do you line up like they do for horse racing, or is it more like Nascar?”  
  
Dean chuckled. “None of the above. It’s kinda hard to get a boat to stop and then get it going again, so what they do is they set up a line that is supposed to be long enough but usually isn’t, and there’s a couple different strategies. For one thing, usually one side of the line is more upwind than the other. So while it’s usually best to start on starboard tack, getting a better path to the upwind mark is more important.”  
  
“Okay… So you just…” Dean can see that Sam is thinking about this, and isn’t coming up with a whole lot.  
  
“So what most people do is they just sail back and forth across the line. When you’re on port tack you’re gonna wanna be almost on top of the line, because when they count off the last five seconds, you’re gonna wanna tack over to starboard and be over the line as soon as possible. But make sure you don’t cross it until after they’ve started the race. You’re Green Fleet, so they don’t always care as much, but there’s always assholes.”  
  
“So you just literally sail back and forth on the line until it’s time to go?”  
  
“Yeah, but there’s gonna be about a hundred other boats doing the same thing. It’s basically like bumper cars, but you have to do a penalty when you hit someone.”  
  
“Sounds annoying.”  
  
“Yeah, just wait until you get out of the Green Fleet. Red, White, and Blue are all pretentious assholes that’ll protest your ass for looking at them funny.”  
  
Sam laughed, and Dean considered that to be mission accomplished.  
  
******  
  
They're waiting in line to register at CYC, just like they have been for the past hour. This is the most disorganized event Dean's ever had the displeasure of attending.  
  
Cas is tense too, Dean can tell. He's not sure if it's because of the bad organization or because this race has teams from both SSA and AYC, but there's something putting Cas on edge. And Dean isn't exactly at his most relaxed either.  
  
"I'm gonna go check the rigging again," Dean says, wanting to get away from this damn line.  
  
"You've done that already," Cas tells him.  
  
"Yeah. I know. That's why I said 'again.'"  
  
"You are so patient on the boat, yet you can't stand in line for any length of time," Cas observes. "Patience is a virtue in all things, not just downwind sailing."  
  
"Yeah, 'cause obviously I'm really fucking virtuous."  
  
"It's not obvious, Dean," Cas replies, completely missing the sarcasm.  
  
Dean looks at him for a moment, about to say something else, but he stops when he sees someone else approaching. "Heads up."  
  
Castiel groans when he sees who it is. "Balthazar. A former sailing partner of mine, at Annapolis."  
  
"Yeah? He any good?"  
  
"He was one of the better crews I've sailed with," Castiel replies, not taking his eyes off the guy. Dean can't help but think there's some history here, but knows better than to ask him about it.  
  
“Cas,” the guy says as soon as he’s close enough, and Dean struggles to find the right word to describe the way he says it. He doesn’t miss the thick accent either, or the way that Cas holds himself in a way that suggests that he’s tense, but also kind of relaxed.  
  
“Balthazar.”  
  
“So it’s true that you’ve been slumming it in the Eastern Bay,” he remarks, and Dean immediately decides that he doesn’t like this guy’s attitude.  
  
“It presents an interesting challenge,” Cas agrees.  
  
“Hmm. Yes, well, that sounds fascinating. You’ll have to tell me all about it later.” Dean gets the impression that the guy couldn’t really care less. “So, who is this monkey? I assume he’s my replacement?”  
  
Dean can’t let that slide. “Hey, watch you you’re calling monkey, mo--”  
  
“Dean.”  
  
Dean stops and looks at Cas, then shuts up. He’s the third wheel here, so he might as well act like it.  
  
“Wow, and look how well you have him trained.” Balthazar chuckles. “I’m just here to check up on you, see how you’re doing…”  
  
“I’m doing fine. Will that be all?”  
  
“Oh, dear. It looks like I’ve caught you in one of your moods. I think I’ll take my leave now.” He starts walking away, then turns back. “Oh, I did forget one thing. Good luck, Castiel. With that boat, you’re going to need it.” He flashes a dark grin before disappearing, leaving Dean and Cas alone.  
  
“Well, that guy’s definitely a grade A douchebag,” Dean comments, not really caring if the guy was out of earshot or not. “I don’t know how you put up with him.”  
  
“As I said before, he was a reasonably good crew. A bit… rude, at times, but he listened to me when it counted.”  
  
Dean nodded. “And that’s what makes a good guy in your book? He’s a total dick, but hey. He’s listened to you a few times, so he’s fine.” Dean’s wearing his ‘sarcastic asshole’ face, mostly because he know’s it’ll piss Cas off.  
  
“Oh, you mean like _you_?” Well, it worked. Cas is definitely pissed, more than Dean expected. “There’s little difference between the two of you, Dean.”  
  
“Oh, don’t give me that crap. I wouldn’t be coming in here and trying to throw off your game like that, just because you had to go transfer to somewhere else.”  
  
“Oh, right. Forgive me, you try to throw off my game for no reason in particular.”  
  
“I don’t try to throw off your game at all!”  
  
“Then what is this, Dean?”  
  
Dean pauses, not exactly sure. “It’s um…”  
  
“You don’t have an answer because you know I’m right,” Cas states, suddenly calm again.  
  
But Dean isn’t going to take that, especially when it isn’t true. “No, I don’t have an answer because I can’t believe we’re doing this.” He sighs. “I was just trying to sympathize with you about having to deal with a douchebag all the damn time. Sorry, won’t happen again.” He’s seriously annoyed now.  
  
They glare at each other for a long while, neither willing to admit defeat by breaking first. Dean just doesn’t get why Cas has to be such a standoffish asshole all the time. Dean’s here, trying to act friendly and actually be a nice guy for once, but Cas is pissing him off so much that he can’t stop himself from rising to the bait.  
  
The coach comes over to start briefing them, and they silently agree to call it a draw. The race is more important than some petty battle between them, and the coach may have some valuable inside information for them.  
  
The briefing is sufficiantly brief, and then it’s time to start heading down to the ramp. Dean cracks his knuckles. “Alright, showtime. Let’s take these losers to school.”  
  
******  
  
Dean is seriously impressed at their start. Even at SSA, Dean had never had a start go that smoothly. Especially for the last race of the day, when everyone is tired and lazy and acquianted with the course.  
  
The only complaint Dean could have is that they’re on port tack. For some arbitrary reason, boats on starboard tack have the right of way over boats on port, which means that if any other boat right now was coming towards them, Dean and Cas would have to move out of their way.  
  
When Dean asks him why they're on port, Cas replies that it's because when the race committee fixed the course, it changed the length of the upwind leg. Apparently it'll take three tacks to get up to the mark, so they'll be on starboard as they approach it. They can screw everyone over then. Dean grins and slips his feet under the hiking straps. "That's what I like to hear."  
  
They're coming up on their next tack when Dean notices it. On the other side of the boat, the shroud is loose. Not slack, like it normally should be, but actually loose. The bottom of it has disconnected from the boat and is dangling into the water. "Fuck," he grumbles. "Cas, buddy, you're gonna have to hike out."  
  
Cas looks uncertain about this, but then Dean points out the shroud. "Hold your course."  
  
"I'm going to fall off so you can-"  
  
Dean shakes his head. "No, keep as tight as you can. And _don't tack_." Then Dean crawls across the boat to try and deal with it, keeping as much of his weight on Cas's side of the boat as possible.  
  
The pin that holds the shroud is gone. Probably at the bottom of the river somewhere. " _Shit,_ " Dean hisses under his breath. His eyes search around the boat for something he can use to replace the missing pin, but there’s nothing good. There’s a bit of sail tie, which Dean supposes will work since it’s supposed to be a strong cord and he’s tied the shit out of it, but he knows that it won't hold like a stainless steel pin.  
  
"Alright," he says, getting back on the side and taking the weight management job back over from Cas. "That should hold, but I wouldn't trust it on a beat."  
  
Cas frowns. "Well, it doesn't matter now, since we've gone past our turning point. So we reach over to the mark, and then what?"  
  
"Then we make it up in the downwind. No one can fly spin like I can." He grinned.  
  
"Alright..." Cas looks at where they are in relation to the mark, seeing other boats approaching it properly. They would be lucky if they were a close last with rounding this.  
  
They tack and Dean rolls it so hard that water comes into the bottom of the boat. He jams his foot onto the autobailer, glad that he'd taken the time to fix that thing. Without it, he'd be using a bucket, and he had better things to do right now.  
  
He re-trimmed all the sails. Normally he tuned them for the upwind leg and didn't worry about making the minute adjustments for other points of sail, but this time around they’ll need as much help as they can get.  
  
He keeps his hand on the shroud, making sure the connection holds. If that line breaks, then nothing will be holding the mast upright, and it'll pitch over sideways and it'll all be over. They have to place in this race if they want to do well overall.  
  
They're actually not the last team to round the mark, but with more than ten boats ahead of them, they might as well be. At least now they’re running downwind.  
  
"Cas, if we run it straight down then they're gonna fuck us."  
  
"Right, so if I go just broad on port..."  
  
"Right, that's what I'm thinking."  
  
They get the spinnaker up and flying sooner than the leading AYC team, much to Dean's satisfaction. They make up the lost ground on the downwind leg, managing to get into sixth place by the time they round the downwind mark. Next is an upwind leg back up to the finish line.  
  
"How tight can you get us?"  
  
Dean reads the wind carefully. "You can head up some more. I'll set." They do a simple maneuver that doesn't look like much, but it's perfectly calculated so even though Cas turns the boat slightly, the sails are always perfectly tuned.  
  
"You think you can fly spin on a close reach?”  
  
“Um…” Dean gauges the wind. “Maybe. If you start beam and head up I should be able to…” He stops and looks at Cas. “Why? You gonna try it?”  
  
“It’s our best option. We can only make ground on port tack, so I’m thinking we get up to about halfway then reach across to reset. If we can get the spin flying then we won’t lose too much time.”  
  
“You are one crazy son of a bitch,” Dean tells him with an amused grin.  
  
Several units of time later (it’s impossible to tell which units in particular), it’s time to tack. The sails come around and Dean eases the rigging as much as he can to prevent putting too much strain on his bad shroud. Then the spinnaker goes up.  
  
It’s not difficult to keep the sail full like this, but this isn’t where they need to go. Cas heads up, edging the boat closer towards the wind.  
  
The wind isn’t heavy, but thankfully it’s not light either. Perfect for this. If it was too light, the sail wouldn’t be able to fill properly. And if it was too heavy, there would be too much strain on the rigging. They get a few odd looks for this; the spinnaker is a giant red sail billowing out above them and this is supposed to be upwind, where the spinnaker is basically useless.  
  
They make good time. Even though this is a relatively ineffective position for the spinnaker since it’s hidden behind the other two sails, it’s still giving them plenty of drive. Dean’s feelings are extremely conflicted now; he’s got the instant calm of flying spin, of having nothing else in the world to look at or focus on, and he’s got the upwind speed, whipping at his hair and exhilarating him.  
  
But this conflict clicks into place somehow. It makes sense with the rest of his life. All his life has been conflict between what he wanted and what he got. He can be so proud of everything he is and everything he’s done, but still feel like it’s not enough. He can know he couldn’t have saved her, but still have so much guilt that he can’t get to sleep at night.  
  
He can feel Cas sitting next to him, feel the warmth radiating from where their thighs are touching, filling his whole body with a calm not unlike the kind he gets from flying spin. But the touch also excites him in ways he knows it shouldn’t. It feels like a promise, even though Dean knows that it means nothing, that it’s simply to keep their weight centered and together.  
  
Cas is like the boat, he’s both infinitely calming and ridiculously exhilarating. He’s like-  
  
“Dean.” Cas’s voice cuts through his thoughts like a knife, and for a moment Dean is glad his face is so sunburned. “Douse the spinnaker, then we’re gonna tack.”  
  
“Sounds good, cap’n.” Dean grins and gives him a left-handed salute, almost elbowing him in the process. Then it’s back to business.  
  
******  
  
They came in fifth overall, not well enough to place. Cas isn’t happy about it, and files half a dozen protests. Dean has absolutely no interest in that process whatsoever, and so he decides he’s going to try and find a new pin for the shroud. He stares at the line that he’s got tied in, and shakes his head slowly. Then he slams his hands down on the gunwale and lets his head fall against the fiberglass with a _thump_.  
  
Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. This is the shit that gets people killed. Yeah, so maybe it wasn’t so bad this time, but what if something like this happens again? What if--  
  
Dean closes his eyes and slams a fist into the side of the boat. “It was _years_ ago,” he mutters. “Get the fuck over yourself.” And so he stands up and leans back against the boat, taking deep breaths and trying not to think about this too hard.  
  
He doesn’t realize he’s still shaking when Cas gets back. “Dean. Did you find the necessary part?”  
  
“What?” Dean blinks a few times, coming back to reality as Cas’s face comes into focus in front of him. “Uh… No. They’ve got stuff back at the shed though, at Miles River.”  
  
Cas nods, but it’s clear he’s more focused on something else. Dean realizes Cas is staring right at him, staring into him like he did back by the ping-pong table a week ago. “What?”  
  
“Are you alright, Dean?”  
  
“What? No! I mean-- yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, Cas.” He runs a hand through his hair. _Nice one. Now he thinks you’re retarded._  
  
Cas looks at him for another long moment, and it kinda makes Dean feel like he’s some kind of bug on a microscope, being studied by people that couldn’t care less about him. Thankfully it doesn’t last long, and Cas decides to accept Dean’s less than satisfactory answer. “Alright. The race committee wants to see us, by the way.”  
  
“What?” Dean sits up at that. “Cas, you know I really don’t give a shit about your petty fucking protests--”  
  
“This isn’t about that, Dean.”  
  
Dean looks back at him and wishes for a half a second that Cas could see past his bullshit and know that he really can’t go and face the world right now. But for that to happen, that would mean Cas would have to see past his bullshit. And that’s never going to happen.  
  
So Dean sighs and stands up. “Yeah, alright. Let’s go see what they want.” 

  


And so Dean finds himself sitting in front of a panel of race committee members, explaining why he and Cas did what they did on their last race of the day. He’s expecting to be rebuked, and he knows Cas is expecting to be disqualified because of their rigging. The rules aren’t as important in 420s as they are for Optis or Lazers, but Dean’s pretty sure that using sail tie to connect your shrouds didn’t count as regulation.  
  
Instead, the reaction they receive is one of laughter, and Dean swears he hears one of the men say ‘I told you so.’ All Dean and Cas can do is look at each other in confusion.  
  
“Well done, boys,” says the guy in the middle. Dean can’t help but like him. He’s the same age as the rest of the committee, but he doesn’t have that whole rich and stuffy thing going on that the others have. He’s wearing a ball cap, and speaks as though he was born and raised on some kind of Midwestern ranch.  
  
“I have to say, I’m impressed,” he continues. “Most people would have just given up on the race, but you two worked it out, and did better with your handicap than many of those other racers did without. And there were a lot of guys out there that are good at what they do.”  
  
Another man sits up and starts talking, obviously impatient. This one is a pretty standard race committee member, old and dressed in a cardigan and loafers. “The point is, we have reviewed your situation, and your testimony was the last piece we needed. We’ve been in contact with the race commission, and they have agreed to let us waive the score of the last race. This puts you in a tie for third place.”  
  
Dean and Cas look at each other excitedly. So what happened didn’t ruin them. It’s not like Dean actually cared about this crap, but he knows how important it is to Cas. And he knows how much it means that the committee is making an exception here. Usually these kinds of guys treat the rulebook like it’s the Holy fucking Bible.  
  
The first man is speaking again. “Make sure that your rigging doesn’t fail on you next time. We’ll be looking forward to seein’ how you do.” He smiles at the boys, and then they’re dismissed. 

  


“Holy _shit_ ,” Dean breathes once they’re out of the room. “You ever heard of something like that before?”  
  
Cas shakes his head. “Not in all my years at AYC. Never.”  
  
Dean lets out a low whistle. “So then… Wow.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Dean sees that Cas is smiling, and he can’t help the grin that spreads across his own face. And it’s totally not because he really likes Cas’s smile. Yeah, it’s got nothing to do with the way the skin crinkles at the corners of Cas’s eyes, or the way the smile isn’t quite even. Absolutely nothing to do with it.  
  
He realizes he’s staring, and turns away with a cough, trying to pretend he wasn’t just staring at Cas for way too long. It’s not like he’s going to remember that smile for the rest of his life or anything. Then he’s pretending he didn’t enjoy that moment of probably-should-have-been-awkward eye contact. And then he’s pretending that he doesn’t notice how Cas looks almost as disappointed as Dean is that he looked away.


	4. Horseshoe Crabs, Jellyfish, and Insecurities

Dean sighs and pulls out the 12 billionth pin he’s tried. None of them are the right size. Too skinny, too fat, too long, too short… Always something wrong. It’s all about the shed, really. Walking into the thing, it looks perfectly neat and tidy.Then you realize that it was, back in 1982. But now, especially in the maintenance shelves, it looks kind of like a disaster area.  
  
Evan the Shed Troll managed to find Dean a tupperware container filled with all kinds of pins, rings, and the occasional nut and bolt, but that was about two hours ago. Dean throws the useless pin on the ground, satisfied by the _chink_ as it hit all the other pins in the steadily growing pile of rejects. “Dammit…”  
  
It’s late, and Sam’s already left. The motel they’re staying in is just outside of Saint Michaels, about a 20 minute bike ride. The walk is almost an hour though, and as Dean looks at the sun starting to set, he decides he probably ought to get moving. He’ll get here early tomorrow and see if he can’t find a good pin. If not, then this boat will be out of commission until he can get the new part shipped in from Annapolis. Or maybe he could go to West Marine… There’s one in Easton, he knows. But that’s almost an hour on the bike, and unless he wants to get up at 4 AM tomorrow to get there and back by 7:30, it’s not going to happen.  
  
He lets out a long sigh. It’s fine. It’s totally, completely one hundred percent fine. No one got hurt, unless he counts Cas’s ego. And it’s not even like this is the first time something like this has happened. These boats are old, shit breaks. So why is this such a problem? Why is he thinking about her so much all of a sudden?  
  
He sighs and walks over to the beach. It’s the grossest, tiniest beach anyone’s ever seen, but it’s somewhere Dean can get his toes in the water and hopefully calm the fuck down.  
  
There’s a horseshoe crab in the water. Dean looks at it for a long moment, just using it as a point of focus, somewhere to direct his completely unrelated thoughts. Yes, shit happened. But shit happens all the time, and it happens to everybody. Dean just needs a way to make that stick.  
  
Suddenly Dean feels something brush his shoulder and he jumps. “Woah! Cas?” He turns to find his partner standing right next to him, also staring down at the horseshoe crab. “Seriously, dude. You gotta warn a guy before you go up and ninja them.”  
  
Cas looks over at him, then back out at the water. The sun has set, but there’s still some red in the sky to the west. “The ninja are known for their stealth and near invisibility. If I were to warn you, then by definition it would not be ‘ninja’.” Cas uses air-quotes around the word ninja, and Dean chuckles.  
  
“No, I guess not.” He sighs, and stands there for another moment, looking out across the water, feeling the warmth of Cas’s shoulder just brushing his own. He focuses on that feeling. It’s so alien, feeling so at ease when he’s on dry land. It probably isn’t a good idea to examine that too closely. Time for a subject change. “So, what are you doing here?”  
  
“I could ask you the same thing.”  
  
Dean smiles. He’s figured out in the past few weeks that Cas doesn’t do this to be an asshole, it’s just how he is. “I was trying to find a replacement pin for that shroud and lost track of time. Back to you, buddy.”  
  
Castiel sighs. “My father is working late, and my brothers refuse to pick me up. I suspect they’re having a party.”  
  
“So why not just walk home?”  
  
“I have no desire to participate in such an event,” Cas says, and he says it with such finality that there would be no point in trying to follow up.  
  
They lapse into silence again. Another horseshoe crab appears. The boys watch them as they scuttle around the beach, just below the water. Neither needs to ask what they are doing when one climbs onto the back of the other.  
  
“Fascinating creatures,” Cas observes.  
  
Dean raises an eyebrow. “You’re into some weird shit, man.”  
  
Cas looks at him, not seeming to get his meaning right away. “Oh. No, I don’t mean it like that.” He looks back at the crabs. “The oldest fossils of these creatures are over 450 million years old. They have survived them mass extinction of the dinosaurs. They’ve seen the birth and death of so many species, so many eras. If they could tell us everything they’ve seen…”  
  
Dean looks at the mating crabs. “Yeah, even if they could talk, I don’t think they’d be saying much of anything right now…”  
  
Cas chuckles softly. It’s a good sound, one that Dean likes kind of a lot. Not that he would ever admit it. “That’s true.”  
  
There’s another silence, but this time Cas is the one to break it. “I know there’s something on your mind, Dean. Earlier today, you seemed… Off. What happened?”  
  
Dean looks at him. “It’s um…” He’s surprised that Cas was even able to pick up on that. What else can the guy have picked up on? Is it possible that he knows how conflicted he makes Dean feel? No, it’s not. Definitely not possible. “Don’t worry about it, Cas.”  
  
“I will worry about it,” Cas tells him. “You are my crew, and if something is bothering you then I want to--”  
  
“Cas, drop it,” Dean says, cutting him off. He doesn’t want to talk about this, and thankfully Cas takes the hint. He doesn’t ask about it again, but Dean can feel the curiosity burning away in him. “Look… something did happen, but it was a while ago. And I don’t need you trying to act like a shrink or telling me the same damn things as everyone else. I don’t need it. I just need to forget about it and move on with my life.”  
  
Cas nods, and Dean is thankful that he seems to be the one person on the planet that actually respects him when he says to drop it. “Alright,” Cas tells him. “But if--”  
  
“If you say you’re here for me to talk to, so help me god, I will break your nose.”  
  
Cas shuts up.  
  
Neither of them talk again for about ten minutes, which is when Cas’s brothers show up to take him home. “How are you getting home?” Cas asks him.  
  
Dean shrugs. “It’s not that far, I’m gonna walk.”  
  
Cas looks at him. “Are you sure? My brother might be able to take you…”  
  
“Seriously, dude. It’s not that bad. I’ll be fine, you go on home.”  
  
So Cas nods, then he gets into the car and Dean watches him drive away until the taillights finally disappear behind the trees.  
  
******  
  
Dean spends the whole next morning looking for a pin, and finally finds one by the time Cas walks up and starts hounding Dean for not having the boat rigged up. Dean simply argues that he was busy, and adds to his point by waving the replacement pin in Cas’s face. The skipper huffs and walks away, but Dean knows it’s a form of endearment.  
  
At least, he hopes it is. It’s possible that he is completely wrong about Cas, that he doesn’t actually know how to read him at all. Because it’s not like he’s ever had direct confirmation that he was right about something, all he’s ever done is guess. It fits, it makes sense, so Dean assumes it’s right. But who actually knows? No one except Cas.  
  
Dean rigs quickly, but doesn’t sacrifice anything. Every line on the boat is double-checked and tested before Dean is happy with it, that nothing’s going to break unless he wants it to. The wind is decent, but not ridiculously strong. Dean’ll be sitting up on the side, but probably won’t get the chance to hike out a whole lot.  
  
Cas reappears from wherever the hell it is that he goes, and has that look of dark confusion on his face. Dean grins at him. “What? Get lost or something?”  
  
Cas shakes his head. “No… The coach says we’re going to a place called Leed’s Creek today. I’ve never heard of it.”  
  
Dean chuckles. “It’s a beach on the other side of the river. We go there just about every Friday.”  
  
“But for what purpose?”  
  
“For fun, dumbass. You know what fun is, right?”  
  
Castiel frowns at him. “Of course I know what fun is, Dean.” Then he turns out towards the river, looking for something, probably the beach.  
  
“It’s out there a ways,” Dean supplies. “But it’s sort of… that direction.” He points.  
  
Castiel follows the line of Dean’s hand, then his eyes lose focus for a moment as he works out the wind. “Rig the spinnaker,” he decides eventually.  
  
“Actually, I’m thinking we go without. The other kids are just learning how to use it, and I’m thinking it’d be a fun challenge to see if we can’t beat them anyways.”  
  
Castiel looks at their boat and frowns. “I think you overestimate our vessel.”  
  
“I think you overestimate the competition,” Dean replied with a grin. “Come on, Cas. I’ll be amazed if they can get the damn sail to fill, and I ain’t had practice kiting in a while.”  
  
Cas looks at him, and their eyes meet in yet another one of their trademark uncomfortable stares. But then Cas nods. “Fine. We launch last.” Then he was gone, stalking across the gravel to the clubhouse.  
  
******  
  
Cas does _not_ like Leed’s Creek. Dean knows this because the guy was standing there on the beach for about ten minutes before announcing, “I do _not_ like Leed’s Creek.”  
  
Dean chuckles. “You know, you’re supposed to actually have fun. Pull that stick out of your ass and get in the water!”  
  
Castiel eyes the water with distaste. “Why on Earth would I want to go into the water? I’d prefer to stay dry, not to mention that the jellyfish count is currently on the rise.” He watches Dean intently, like there’s a joke that Dean’s supposed to get. When he sees that Dean doesn’t understand, he sighs. “It’s a pun. See, jellyfish polyps strobilate on the bay floor and then rise to--”  
  
He’s cut off when Dean shoves him into the water. Cas really needs to learn how to have some fun, and that jellyfish thing totally doesn’t count. Except then his head pops back up out of the water and he’s looking at Dean with what is possibly the most terrifying look Dean has ever received, Dean starts to think that maybe this wasn’t the right way to go about this.  
  
“No one cares about jellyfish life cycles, Cas.”  
  
“Cas _tiel_ ,” he spits back, before picking himself up and going back to the boat.  
  
Dean watches, wondering what exactly _Castiel_ plans on doing with that boat by himself. The wind is strong enough that a scrawny guy like him won’t be able to hold it down on his own, even if he could singlehand it. Dean’s torn between going up and asking him what he plans to do with the boat, and watching him try to take it out.  
  
Luckily, Cas comes to the same conclusion as Dean does about the wind, as he sighs and then walks away. What surprises Dean is that he actually walks _toward_ the crowd of kids playing on the beach. But he stops before he gets there, and just stares at them.  
  
When he doesn’t move after five minutes, Dean rolls his eyes and then joins the fray, playing in the water, throwing jellyfish at people, playing chicken until the coaches shut it down, that kind of thing.  
  
When it’s time to go, Cas is still standing there. Dean finds this seriously weird, and he has to ask. “Dude, have you even moved?”  
  
Cas doesn’t move, and Dean decides to take that as a yes. It’s another moment before Cas turns back to the boat. “Let’s go,” he snaps, then stalks off to the boat.  
  
It’s like all the bonding they did over the past three weeks is gone, and now they’re back where they started. Dean doesn’t really appreciate the feeling curling up inside him and settling heavily in his stomach, so he doesn what he always does. He ignores it, and then follows Cas back to the boat.  
  
******  
  
Dean hasn’t been sailing with Cas at all this week, something about how he and Cas intimidate the other kids, and how they need to spread the wealth so others could learn. And Dean’s fine with that and everything, but it’s not helping him get back out of Cas’s Naughty List and he doesn’t even know where to begin teaching this girl.  
  
She already knows enough to be competent on a boat; she can do her part pretty well. But it’s just the basics. She can manage her sail and keep them running straight, but she’s missing that something that takes a decent sailor into an excellent skipper. And Dean has no idea what that something is.  
  
But because she’s actually decent, they’re doing pretty well. In fact, they’re neck-and-neck with Cas and his temporary partner.  
  
They run the entire downwind leg almost completely tied, but Cas manages to get ahead of them while going around the mark, setting him ahead of Dean.  
  
“Alright, I’m tacking,” the girl says, and then she puts the helm over. Dean throws his weight backward, rolling the boat to keep up speed, then comes up laughing when he hears her shriek.  
  
“Come on, you gotta roll it!”  
  
She shakes her head. “No, you don’t!”  
  
“Yeah, maybe you don’t.” Dean shrugs. “But only if you wanna let them beat us.” He looks at her, trying to get her excited about winning.  
  
It’s working, too. She’s really watching the sails now, and they’re actually getting some speed. The wind is picking up too, which is helping a lot. Dean runs better when he gets to hike out.  
  
Two more tacks and they’ve made up the distance between them and Cas. Dean rocks back on the hiking straps, grinning at upside-down Cas. “Hey.”  
  
Cas frowns at him. “Focus, Dean.”  
  
“Why? If I do that, then you’re gonna lose.” Dean sits back up as they hit a dead spot.  
  
“I doubt it,” Cas replies.  
  
“Oh yeah?” They hit another puff, and Dean rocks back again to counter it.  
  
At least, that was his goal. It’s never accomplished, because it’s at that moment when the ancient hiking straps decide to give up the ghost. They explode, sending Dean flipping backwards and into the drink.  
  
He hangs onto the jib sheet and uses it to haul himself back into the boat, just to find his skipper laughing at him. “Hey!”  
  
She just keeps laughing. “Nice job, Dean.”  
  
Dean grumbles back at her and gets back into position. He has to hook his feet under a fiberglass structure in the middle of the boat, and it’s just about the most uncomfortable thing he’s ever done. But it’s better than nothing, and they make do.  
  
They come in second, after Cas. Once they’re finished, Dean has the skipper point the boat upwind so that it won’t go anywhere and he can work on reattaching the hiking straps. There’s a thin line connecting the straps to the back of the boat, and it’s busted. Dean loops it back through the straps and ties it back up. He gives it a good tug, then pronounces it good as new.  
  
Obviously he didn’t test it enough, because the middle of race two, it blows again. This time, Deans able to feel it as the knot slips, and gets back into the boat before his ass ends up back in the water. But apparently that wasn’t enough to stop Cas from seeing and laughing at him. “You’re doing an excellent job, Dean. Nice catch.” And then Cas tacks and he’s gone in the distance.  
  
Dean ties the strap itself around a bar going across the boat. It’s way looser than normal, and the skipper won’t be able to use it at all, but it’s better than sticking his feet under the fiberglass again. Plus the looser strap means he can get back farther.  
  
They catch up with Cas, and Dean flips him the bird as they pass him.  
  
*****  
  
Another race, another win. This one was at Rock Hall, and AYC wasn’t even there. That took a lot of the pressure off. Of course, now Dean is sitting under the awning at the protesting station, listening to some chick at SSA explain why he and Cas should be receiving a penalty.  
  
Dean and Cas make eye contact and simultaneously sigh. They’ll need a pretty stiff penalty to lose first place, the kind that takes a bunch of people reporting several different offenses each. And Cas is good at what he does; Dean’ll be surprised if any of these guys come up with anything that actually shows a violation of the rules.  
  
But eventually they get out, and can finally start packing up the boat. They’re working together again, though it took a lot of work. At least it didn’t take quite as long for Dean to get Cas to like him this time as it did before, but now at the start of week five, they’re actually pretty good friends again. They have a tied record in ping-pong, although Cas has beaten other people more times than Dean has. Cas keeps trying to use that to say he’s ahead in the game, but Dean argues that it’s just between the two of them, and doesn’t extend to a crowd of fourteen-year-olds that wouldn’t know what a ping-pong ball was if it jammed itself up their ass. Cas argues that Dean shouldn’t be so vulgar, and then walks away.  
  
Dean isn’t surprised when Cas snarks at him for pulling out his phone, but he does have a good excuse. “No, I was checking the marine forecast. I was thinking that maybe you and I could go out on a night sail sometime. Maybe tomorrow night? There’s a storm coming through that’ll just miss us, but it’ll give us some solid wind for trapping.” He’s grinning, because he hasn’t had the chance to go out on the trapeze since he came to Miles River. He just hopes that Cas won’t stay as skeptical as he is now.  
  
“And what boat do you intend to use? Mine was given to my old crew, and Miles River locks the shed up every night.”  
  
“You let me worry about the shed.” Dean waves his eyebrows suggestively. He’s of course referring to the fact that he has a lockpick, and is quite skilled in using it. Cas doesn’t know this, but Dean’s okay with that. What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.  
  
Cas frowns. “I still don’t know if it’s a good idea, Dean.”  
  
Dean comes around to the other side of the boat, coming up with some excuse to be over here while Cas leans over the edge of the boat to untie the main halyard. Dean always does his best to time it so he’s over here when that happens, because it gives him a great view of his partner’s ass.  
  
He waits until Cas is straightened up before asking, “Why not?” They lock eyes for a brief second (not long enough for Cas to start that soul staring crap) before Dean goes back around to his own side to undo the jib halyard.  
  
When he straightens up, he finds Cas to be inches away from him. Literally _inches_. He swallows, hoping Cas doesn’t pick up on how uncomfortable this makes him. Because it obviously doesn’t affect Cas any. “Come on, man. Personal space. Give a guy a little breathing room.”  
  
Cas looks at him like he’s confused. Great. “I still fail to see why this is any different from us making contact on the boat.”  
  
“It’s completely different. On the water, we gotta keep our weight together. On land, you got this whole frikken’ driveway. Or at least more than six inches away from me.”  
  
Cas nods and steps back, and immediately Dean’s mind goes crazy. Is Cas upset at him? Cas is upset at him, isn’t he? Crap, that was kind of a dick move, too. There is definitely a better way to say that, but Dean didn’t find it and now Cas is pissed. Again. They’re probably back to square one now, too. Dean hates that when that happens.  
  
“But yeah. Night sailing. I know where they keep the old trap harness, too. You wanna go out?”  
  
Cas grabs the jib and throws it over the main for Dean, and Dean kicks himself. He should’ve done that himself. But he goes over to help roll the sails up and get them in the bag. It’s a process they have timed down to a science, and no longer requires any communication.  
  
But once the sail is in the bag, Cas is looking at Dean with confusion written all over his face. “What do you mean when you say, ‘go out’?”  
  
Dean’s eyes go wide as he realizes what Cas thinks he meant. “No, dude. Not… No. Like, go out on the water.” That sounds bad too. Shit. “Like, just do a sail. Meet here, go sailing, come back, go home. Just.. yeah.”  
  
Cas nods and takes the sailbag to the truck to go back to the shed, giving Dean time to kick himself. Of course Cas would misinterpret that. Now things are going to be seriously weird between them.  
  
Except when Cas comes back to take the boards, nothing seems wrong with him at all. On his way past Dean, he says, “That sounds like a lot of fun. I’m still not sure how you intend to get into the shed, but I think it’s best if I don’t question it.”  
  
Dean grins, glad that Cas agreed to go. “Yeah, probably.” He winks, then laughs at the way Cas rolls his eyes at him.  
  
As he starts coiling the halyards, he really starts thinking about what just happened. Why would Cas think he was asking him on a date? Was Cas already thinking like that? Because there’s no reason it would have occurred to him like that unless… Dean shakes his head. “You’re just being crazy,” he mutters to himself. “Just because you think you’re going gay for him doesn’t mean that he feels the same about you.”


	5. I Think That Went Well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning I guess for some suicide-ish type thoughts? I don't think it's that bad but better safe than sorry.

Dean is all the way hiked out before they even leave the sheltered part of the river. The sun is just dipping below the horizon, throwing colors across the water in shattered shapes and highlighting the breaking waves.  
  
But Dean’s not looking at the sunset. He’s not looking at anything, not really. He’s feeling the wind in his hair, feeling the spray hit the side of his face, letting the flow of water keep him warm even though the night is cold. It’s amazing.  
  
He tips his head back and lets it skim through the spray, feeling the tug of the water on his hair and getting a faceful of water when they hit a wave too hard. He comes up grinning, because he almost ended up in the river on that one, and there was no way Cas could have rescued him.  
  
And then they’re out of the harbor and into the main river, where the waves are coming up higher and harder, and Dean feels Cas next to him hiking out all the way, rocking the boat into the waves. But even their combined weight can’t hold the boat down, so they’re being tipped farther and farther up into the air, and Dean’s struggling to get the hook connected to the harness, but then he’s got it, and he gets out of the hiking straps, puts his feet on the edge of the boat…  
  
And he’s on top of the world.  
  
The boat comes back down to level, and now there’s nothing connecting Dean to the boat except his toes and a thin cable and if he gets dumped now he’s probably going to die, but he doesn’t care. He loves it. There’s nothing but the wind beating his ears and it’s deafeningly loud but still somehow silent. He’s completely weightless, but also perfectly weighted. He’s in a total vacuum, but completely connected to everything around him. He’s cheering, because he used to think hiking out was fun, but that has nothing on this.  
  
This is true freedom.  
  
Cas calls that they’re going to tack, and Dean yells back with a grin that yeah, he’s got it. So he disconnects himself from the harness, but keeps hanging on. If he lets up even a fraction, they’re going to turtle, and there’s no one out here to help them.  
  
Cas throws the helm over, and then Dean’s world is all about flapping canvas. That is, until he throws his weight back as far as he can and ends up almost entirely submerged, before scrambling back onto the boat and it’s about canvas again. He changes over the sail and is hooked up to the other side a hell of a lot faster than he was the first time.  
  
“You almost got thrown off the boat,” Cas yells up to him. Dean grins. It was fun though. It was scary, feeling his feet slip and the weightlessness try and trick him to staying in the water, but he kept his footing, and he’s back up, and they’re flying on this tack faster than Dean has ever gone in his entire life.  
  
“Yeah, but it was _awesome!_ ” He yells back, then gives another cheer. There’s no way that Dean will ever tire of this feeling. With the wind and the waves and the thunder in the background, there’s no way he’ll ever tire of it. And it’s a good thing too, because the wind doesn’t stop picking up.  
  
He hears Cas cheer behind him, and yells back in response. They’re cheering to each other, going back and forth as Dean has to let more and more line out on the trapeze, until there’s none left to give.  
  
They’re still going over. The wind is still picking up and Dean is as far out as he can go, and now Cas is too, and they’re still going over. “Cas, fall off,” Dean yells. His heart is pounding even harder now, fear sending another burst of adrenaline through him. “Cas! Fall--”  
  
And then Dean’s in the water. The boat is in the water, capsized. Dean pushes up, trying to get his head above water. He breaks the waves long enough to take a breath and yell for Cas, before another wave crashes over him, burying the sail and flipping the boat completely upside-down.  
  
Dean’s trapped. He pulls at the harness, but he can’t see, and it’s jammed, and he’s tangled in the sail and he tries to find the air pocket under the boat but it’s not there, all it is is sail, and Dean can’t get out of the boat, can’t get out of the harness.  
  
He’s a goner.  
  
As soon as he realizes this, he lets himself relax. Maybe it’s meant to be. He opens his eyes, and for a moment, he thinks he sees _her_ there next to him, trapped alongside him in their watery grave. Yeah, Dean deserves this. He couldn’t save her, and now he’s going to die too. It’s only fitting. She reaches out and touches his shoulder and the contact feels so _real,_ and that’s when Dean closes his eyes and lets the darkness take him.  
  
******  
  
Castiel feels it when the puff comes, but he and Dean are enjoying themselves so much that he can’t bring himself to let up on the sails.  
  
He should have.  
  
He hears Dean screaming at him to fall off, but by the time he does anything, the boat is already on her side. Momentarily, all Castiel knows is water, until his life vest provides him with the buoyancy he needs to stay above it. He’s clinging onto the main sheet; he can’t lose the boat. He grabs onto the rudder, knowing Dean could not have gotten too far away from the boat if he was tied into the trapeze. “Dean?” He calls out roughly, scanning the surface of the water for his partner, but he’s nowhere to be seen.  
  
It feels like an eternity of searching and not finding anything before he sees Dean’s head break the surface. Dean calls out for him, and Castiel tries to warn him about the coming wave, but it’s too close. The wave catches on the sail, burying the sail in the water until gravity takes over. Castiel watches in slow motion as Dean’s head disappears below the surface.  
  
Castiel has to save him. He has to. He is the skipper of this boat, and it is his duty to make sure his crew comes back alive. He takes a breath and holds it. That is how much time Dean has.  
  
The first thing Castiel tries is to right the boat, but it’s taking too long, and his weight can’t provide enough torque to counter the drag created by the sail. He is also starting to run out of breath. Dean doesn’t have much time left.  
  
Castiel only has one other option, and he does it without hesitation. He slides off the boat and into the water, and takes a fresh breath before diving under and trying to find Dean. He reaches around, but realizes he’s too far forward.  
  
Attempt number two: He finds Dean, his hands brush against his shoulder, but he can’t pull him free. He comes back up and takes another breath, growling in frustration.  
  
Attempt number three: He dives down lower, unhooking the trapeze, and finally pulls Dean up out of the water.  
  
Dean’s unconscious. Castiel knows he has to get to shore, so he drags Dean onto the top of the boat and tows it to the nearest beach he can find. It takes an impossibly long time, but eventually he makes it. He drags Dean onto the beach and is silently praying to every deity that there is that they would please, _please,_ spare Dean’s life. Let him live.


	6. Flashback Time

_There was nothing remarkable about that day, two years ago. The wind wasn’t especially strong, just enough to keep the flags on top of the boat curling around themselves. The waves were present, but not enough to break over the front of the boat. The sun was hot on his back, making the boy’s sunscreen-sticky skin prickle where his life vest didn’t protect it. It was a completely unremarkable day._

_The smell of salt and dead fish curled around him as he approached the start. The whistle sounded shrilly through the air, counting down. Five, four, three, two, one, and then they were over the start line. He and his crew were young, and tired from the day before and sore from the run this morning, but they’re competent._

_The spinnaker billows out in front of them, filling him with serenity even as the folds of the nylon sail slipped over and under each other, swishing as they passed._

_The mark bobbed in the distance, big and orange and cylindrical, and he quietly, tentatively suggested they bring the spinnaker down early. She gave her agreement, and the boat shifted itself in the water as she moved forward to bring it down._

_The boat shifted again as he stood up, fitting the tiller comfortably between his thighs as he releases the thin blue line to bring the spinnaker down._

_“I think I’m stuck on something,” she said, and her voice was so offhand. It was casual, not concerned in the slightest._

_And then something changed. It could have been a shift in the wind, or he could have carelessly let the boat turn. But something changed, and with a slightly metallic_ swish _, the mainsail gybed. The boom caught on the rigging. The entire boat was vibrating, humming, as he reached out to try and prevent capsize. He reached out and his hand closed around nothing, nothing but air._

_It was dark in the water. It was dark and light and warm and cold and there was salt in his mouth, his nose, his eyes. It assaulted him even after his buoyant life jacket brought him to the surface._

_He climbed up onto the boat, his hands and knees slipping on the wet fiberglass. He searched the water, the rippling, rolling water, for a sign of his crew. There was none._

_He dove back into the water, back into that salty torment, diving under the boat and searching. Fingers brushed against soft skin. He pulled at her, trying to shift her unyielding form to get her head above water._

_He wasn’t supposed to see her when they finally got her out. There were people surrounding him but all were so focused on the image of her unmoving body that they didn’t notice that he could see her too. Her eyes were glass, dull and unmoving. Lifeless, just like the rest of her._

_She was fourteen years old when she died._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is unfortunately based off of a real incident that occurred a while ago. If anyone is interested, the incident report is [here](http://www.ussailing.org/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/SSA-Report_Final.pdf).


	7. Maybe The Beach Isn't So Bad

_Dean Winchester is saved._

******

Dean blinks his eyes open. He feels like he’s been hit by a truck, which is super weird, because he’s pretty sure that he’s not supposed to feel pain after he’s already dead. He sits up and looks around.  
  
“Heaven looks a lot like Leed’s Creek. Or maybe this is Hell…”  
  
“You’re awake,” a voice says. Cas’s voice. Shit.  
  
“So you’re dead too?”  
  
“What? No…” Cas frowns, and Dean finds it kind endearing. Hell, he’s dead now, so what does it matter what they think of each other? “No, Dean. You’re not dead, you’re alive.”  
  
And Cas seems so damn excited about it that Dean can’t not believe it. Except he knows he died. He did. He had to, in order to atone for… He shakes his head. “And here I thought it would finally be square…”  
  
Cas is staring at him. It’s obvious he’s curious but he doesn’t say anything. Dean sighs, almost wishing Cas _would_ ask him. It would be easier to justify why he started explaining.  
  
“Um, you know how there was that accident at SSA a couple years back?”  
  
Cas nods. “Yes. A fourteen-year-old girl got caught in the rigging and drowned when the boat capsized.”  
  
Dean nods, impressed by Cas’s knowledge of the incident. “Yeah, that’s…” He takes a breath, trying to gather himself. Thinking about this… He tends to avoid it. There’s no point in bringing up the memories, in forcing himself to go through it yet again. “Her name was Jo Harvelle. The wind was pretty light, but strong enough to flip us. I came up. She didn’t.” Dean closes his eyes, remembering it perfectly. “I tried to get her out, man. I touched her, I _had_ her. But I couldn’t…”  
  
“And you think that because of that, you deserved to die today.” Cas is looking right at him, but Dean can’t read his expression.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
 _Wham!_ Suddenly Dean’s on his back, sprawled out against the sand, and then Cas is grabbing him by the shoulders of his PFD and hauling him back up into a sitting position. Their faces are inches apart. “You’re an idiot, Dean,” Cas growls.  
  
Dean just looks at him, stunned that the guy would punch him in the face. “Cas, what--”  
  
“What makes you think that that could possibly be the answer? What gives you the right to decide who deserves to live and who deserves to die? That is up to God, and God alone.  
  
“Yes, it was a tragedy. And yes, of course it’s natural for you to carry guilt over what happened, but that does not give you the right to just let yourself die, to go and leave me stranded here in the middle of the river on my own, without even knowing why! You can’t just…” Cas closes his eyes, then lets go of Dean, almost throwing him backward. “You need to learn that your actions affect others.”  
  
Dean stares at him in total shock. “What?”  
  
Cas is staring back, blue eyes boring straight into Dean’s soul. This time is different from all the others, somehow. Cas isn’t just seeing him, it’s like he _understands._ He understands everything Dean is, knows him better than any other person on the planet. “You are important, Dean. To this club, to your brother, to…”  
  
Cas trails off and Dean needs to say something to lighten the mood. “What? That’s the whole list?” This is getting way too real for Dean, but it doesn’t seem like Cas is done with it yet.  
  
“Of course not,” Cas snaps. “You don’t seem to understand what you mean to those around you, but you have worth. You aren’t your mistakes, Dean. You can’t let them control you.”  
  
“Cas, a girl _died._ How am I supposed to just forget about it?”  
  
“You don’t,” Cas replies. “But you don’t go letting it control you, and you definitely don’t let yourself die just so that yet another skipper can feel guilty about losing their partner.”  
  
And that’s when Dean realizes what Cas has been trying to say this whole time. He sighs, and closes his eyes, suddenly ashamed. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t think.”  
  
“No, I know you didn’t.”  
  
Cas still looks pissed, and Dean thinks that maybe he can understand. He knows that fear, thinking everything is lost. Except in Cas’s case, his partner didn’t end up dead. So then why is Cas so pissed at him?  
  
“Cas, who else am I important to?”  
  
“Pardon?”  
  
“You were listing off things I’m important to, and you were gonna say something but you stopped yourself. What were you gonna say?”  
  
Cas doesn’t answer for a moment, and when he does, Dean can’t hear him over the rain.  
  
“Cas, you gotta speak up, man.”  
  
“You’re important to me.”  
  
Dean stops for a moment, staring at him. What the hell does Cas mean by that? “You mean like, as a partner?”  
  
“As a friend.”  
  
Dean nods. Of course, friends. That’s what they are, and that’s all they need to be. It doesn’t matter that they’re a better team than anyone has ever seen, and it doesn’t matter that Dean thinks he might want more. Things can’t change, because there’s no promise that it’s a change for the better.  
  
But there’s no promise it’s a change for the worse, either.  
  
“Just friends? Nothing else?”  
  
Cas looks at him for a few moments, and Dean thinks that maybe it was a mistake to stick his neck out like that, but then he realizes that Cas honestly doesn’t know what he means. And Dean doesn’t know what to do from here. He made his move assuming that Cas would meet him halfway, but it doesn’t seem like that’s gonna happen. So now Dean has to either back out, or dive in headfirst and hope he doesn’t snap his neck on the bottom.  
  
He knows what the smart choice is. Cas is still pissed at him, so of course he’ll get rejected. And Dean doesn’t even know if the guy bats for his team. So obviously the logical choice is to back out, to come up with something to cover himself, to pretend like he never even asked.  
  
Except Dean’s never been a logical guy, so maybe that’s why he ends up with his lips pressed to Cas’s. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t get freaked out when he feels the stubble on Cas’s cheek against his palm, or when he feels Cas kissing him back. No, Dean’s not freaked out at all. He’s happy, amazed that this is really happening.  
  
He pulls away to look at Cas. “So… I really am dead, I guess.”  
  
“No, we’ve been through this. You’re not--”  
  
Dean kisses him again, this time just lasting long enough to cut off the end of Cas’s sentence. “I know, Cas.”  
  
“Then why would you say that?”  
  
Dean grins. “‘Cause kissing you is like being in heaven,” he says, overexaggerating the cheesy line.  
  
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Cas tells him.  
  
“So you think I’m wrong?”  
  
“There’s no way to know for sure; no living person has been to Heaven, so there is no way to truly know if--”  
  
He’s cut off when Dean kisses him again. “You talk a lot.”  
  
Cas smiles, then leans in to kiss Dean back, pulling him close by the straps of his life jacket.  
  
Dean hates these stupid life jackets, and their awkwardly weird bulkiness that is putting a minimum of six inches between him and Cas. They have to go.  
  
And that’s when Cas finally pulls away, and Dean feels like he’s about to fall off this high he’s built for himself. “Cas, what…?”  
  
“I’m sorry, this just hasn’t been relevant until now.”  
  
Dean doesn’t get it. How can Cas just be staring at him, all ‘business as usual’? It’s like kissing didn’t affect him any more than anything else. It made sense, he supposed. “What’s, um… What wasn’t relevant?”  
  
Cas smiles apologetically. “That I’m asexual.”  
  
Dean stares. “What, like an amoeba?”  
  
Castiel sighs. “No, it simply means that I don’t experience sexual attraction. It’s an orientation, like all the rest.”  
  
And it’s that just one hell of a bone-killer. “So when we kissed, you didn’t…”  
  
“Dean, don’t misinterpret me. I’m still attracted to you, but it’s in a more… romantic sense.”  
  
“So…” Dean’s struggling to figure out what that means.  
  
“I’d rather not hold an entire educational session right now, but it means that I still wish to pursue a relationship with you, and this,” he says, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Dean’s lips, “Is quite welcome.”  
  
Dean grins and strips off his life jacket, glad that Cas does the same, and then they’re kissing again. It’s unlike anything Dean is used to. Cas’s kisses are just as intense as everything else he does. Dean can feel power in this body in his arms, but unlike any other kiss, there’s no endgame. They’re not using this as a bridge to get anywhere, they can just focus on this. And it’s a pretty great feeling.  
  
But eventually it has to wind down. They find themselves lying together on the beach, wrapped up in each other and looking up at the stars. There’s so many things in Dean’s mind that he wants to say, but there isn’t anything in there that can come first.  
  
And then he grins as Cas breaks the silence between them. “Dean?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I think I like the beach.”  
  
******  
  
Getting back across the river the next day is easy. The wind is basically nonexistent like it always is at this time of day, so the worst thing Dean and Cas have to face is boredom.  
  
Too bad that doesn’t last.  
  
As soon as they come into view of the club, people are freaking out. At first they’re worried, and Dean doesn’t miss the look Cas gives him, but once it’s determined that he and Cas are okay, it’s all anger.  
  
“You boys broke more rules in one night than anyone else in the history of this club. You know that?”  
  
Dean sits back in the chair and grins. “Wow, I didn’t know you guys kept a record of that sort of thing. Is there a wall of infamy somewhere? I must have missed it…”  
  
“Mister Winchester. Your actions could have you banned from this club for good. Do you understand that?”  
  
Dean puts on a face that would, in other situations, seem totally compliant. But he’s using it ironically, just to fire the woman up. “Yes, I do.”  
  
“Now, I should have the two of you thrown out for doing what you did. But you’re already registered as representing us in the junior olympics, and no other team from our club has attracted talent scouts for the real olympics before. So we’re going to let you race, but you’re to be under strict supervision while you are here, and you are not permitted on club property outside of camp hours without parental supervision.”  
  
Dean and Cas both nod. Now that she’s letting them race, it’s a good idea for Dean to at least pretend like he respects her. The JO’s mean a lot to Cas, and Dean isn’t going to let his own attitude take that away from him.  
  
“We understand,” Cas says solemnly.  
  
“Mister Winchester?”  
  
Dean sighs. “Yeah, I gotcha.”  
  
“Good.” She stands up, and it’s clear that they’re dismissed.  
  
Dean groans once they’re outside. “Seriously? Was that supposed to be scary or something? I mean, come on.”  
  
Cas nods. “I agree, but please try not to upset her any farther. I’m surprised they’re still going to let us race, and they may yet take that away from us.”  
  
“No they won’t,” Dean replies. “You heard her, man. Miles River’s never had anyone good enough to send farther than the JO’s. _Ever._ This could be their only shot at it, and they want a little glory.” He sighs. “Almost makes me want to throw it now, you know? If we win, they’ll claim it was because of them.”  
  
“That is irrelevant,” Cas says as they get to the boat. “They’ve never produced sailors of our caliber before, and once our histories are checked, it will become clear that it was just a fluke.”  
  
Dean grins, and hooks up the trailer, then he and Cas take a handle each and they start hauling the boat up to the field where everyone cleans the boats. Normally it’s only done before a race, but he and Cas are grounded for now, and so they may as well do some hull maintenance.  
  
“Yeah, I guess. And then we wouldn’t get to stick it to AYC.”  
  
“Exactly. And of the petty goals, ‘sticking it’ to them is more important.”  
  
Dean laughs at the way Cas says it, like the words are part of some foreign language. Actually, now that he thinks about it, Cas would probably handle the foreign languages _better_. That just makes Dean laugh more, and also starts to piss Cas off.  
  
“Dean, I can’t pull this thing by myself.”  
  
Cas is staring daggers and Dean just grins at him. “Yeah, yeah. Calm down, your highness.” He grabs his handle and takes off, moving as fast as he can while hauling 500 pounds with a rusty set of wheels. It’s a sort of ‘screw you’ to Cas, to show that it is possible to do it yourself.  
  
Cas squares his shoulders and moves forward as well, taking the weight from Dean and moving forward.  
  
 _Oh, It’s on_. They go back and forth the whole way up, but the weight is on Dean’s side when they make it to their goal.  
  
“Ha. I win.” He’s breathing heavy, but so is Cas.  
  
“Felicitations,” Cas deadpans. “I think that was unwise.”  
  
“What? Why?” Dean looks over at him.  
  
“Well, I am now too exhausted to do any of the maintenance we came here to do.”  
  
Dean heaves a sigh. “Yeah, me too.”  
  
But eventually they get their butts in gear, and then it’s all business.  
  
*******  
  
“Why are you so wet?” This is the third kid to ask Dean this in as many minutes.  
  
“Because _that_ guy,” Dean says, pointing to Cas, “Is an ass...inine person.” He finishes slowly. It was a nice save though, Dean pats himself on the back for that one. Asinine. What a great word.  
  
“What does that mean?” She asks, and Dean would roll his eyes, except the kid is about seven and doesn’t know any better.  
  
“It means that if you give that guy a garden hose and tell him to wash a boat, he ends up spraying _you_ instead.”  
  
“You started it,” Cas says, walking up and very pointedly taking a bite of his peanut butter sandwich. That was the nice thing about brown-bagging it, you didn’t have to wait for the kitchen staff to make lunch for every lazy person with a five dollar bill.  
  
“No I didn’t! Just because I accidentally splooshed two drops on you--”  
  
“It was not an accident.”  
  
“Yeah, it was. If it was on purpose, I’d dump the whole thing over your head.”  
  
The kid is laughing now, and Cas gives Dean a helpless look.  
  
“What? It’s called ‘laughter,’ Cas. It’s what people do when they hear something funny. Right?” He asks the kid, tickling her.  
  
“I know what it is, Dean,” Cas grumbles, and that makes Dean laugh too.  
  
“He’s lying,” he whispers to the girl, and she giggles. Then one of her friends calls to her and she waves goodbye before zooming off.  
  
Dean chuckles at her. “Don’t like kids?”  
  
“Not particularly,” Cas answers, watching her. “They tend not to make much sense.”  
  
Dean chuckles. “That’s kinda the point, dude.” He grins, then looks to see if the lunches are out yet. They’re not, and he pulls a face before looking back at Cas. “You really are wet,” he says, grinning.  
  
Cas gives him a completely neutral stare for about twelve seconds, before whipping around and going to their usual place under the tree to eat his lunch. He’s only pretending to be pissed, but Dean gets the point. He laughs, then starts explaining to yet _another_ kid why he’s so wet.


	8. Showtime

“Well, Annapolis does have their shit together, I’ll give them that.” Registration barely took any time at all, and now he’s back here with Cas, watching him rig the boat. Dean would help, but he’s busy doing other things, like scoping out the competition, analyzing the wind. Important stuff.  
  
“Pretty windy today,” he comments, while he’s trying to figure out the direction and lay it over the course that is currently being set up. He knows that there’s no point in doing it now, since the race committee will get it right, that the conditions are always in flux and what he’s feeling now almost definitely does not reflect what’s out on the water, but this is what he has to do. He has to put his mind to work or else it’ll find its own things to think about.  
  
Cas nods as he finishes rigging the boat. He doesn’t comment, and Dean doesn’t really ask him to. Maybe part of him hoped that Cas would pick up on it and they’d have a heart to heart, but that part of him is seriously lame and doesn’t need to get its own way.  
  
Except it does, because realization dawns in Cas’s eyes. “Oh. Is that… Are you okay with that?”  
  
Dean shrugs. Yeah, no one should ever listen to his sappy girl side. It’s annoying. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”  
  
“Because last time we were in wind this heavy, you almost got killed.”  
  
Dean sighs. He appreciates Cas’s worry, but he doesn’t actually want to have a conversation about this. Really, he doesn’t. “I’m just psyching myself out, man. It’s fine.”  
  
“It’s not, Dean. If you don’t feel comfortable with the given conditions, then--”  
  
“Don’t you dare tell me we should pull out of this race,” Dean says, maybe a little more harshly than he needs to. Because they’ve come so far, and they’re here now. And they’ve already registered, so to pull out now just because of a little weather would be the dumbest damn thing anybody’s ever heard.  
  
“Dean…”  
  
“Cas, this is important to you. Plus, can you imagine what those assholes would say if we dropped out now? I know we’re not gonna make the movie of the year, but we still got the underdog thing going for us.”  
  
“Yes, we’re the underdogs that have so far placed top three in every single regatta we’ve attended this year.”  
  
Dean chuckles. “You know what? Firstly, not true. We completely blew the one. Secondly, here I am, trying to give a heartfelt speech, and you just ruin it.” He nudges Cas. “Speech-ruiner.”  
  
“It’s hardly a speech, Dean,” Cas says. “I doubt you prepared that in advance, though if you did, I would advise you to avoid pursuing a career in speech-writing.”  
  
Dean grins at him, and is about to make some other snappy comment, or maybe just kiss him, when that asshole from AYC appears. Great. Just what they need, this guy.  
  
“Dean, Cas. Wasn’t expecting to see the two of you here. Are you planning to watch this race from the sidelines, or are you actually going to try and compete? And I say ‘try,’ because I’ll be amazed if that lump of fiberglass you call a boat even floats.”  
  
“Perhaps we’re using this particular vessel by choice,” Cas says, directing his crazy intense stare at Balthazar. Dean’s childishly amused to see the guy squirm in a way that Dean never has. “Have you ever considered that we do have access to boats in pristine condition, and that we simply choose not to use them?”  
  
Balthazar scoffed. “Please. And why on Earth would you do that?”  
  
“Because this way people like you have a sporting chance,” Cas says. Then he turns away from Balthazar, a clear indication that the conversation is over.  
  
Dean laughs. “Sorry, man. The guy’s right. Gotta keep it interesting somehow, right?”  
  
Balthazar huffs and walks away, but still has to toss some kind of remark over his shoulder. “By the way, your trapeze? Not up to code. I do hope the committee doesn’t notice.”  
  
Dean shrugs. Balthazar can do whatever the hell he wants. Yes, normally what Dean’s got rigged up right now wouldn’t be in regulation, but he made an appeal with the committee and it’s all cleared.  
  
“Dean, Balthazar is right.”  
  
“No he’s not. I got it all squared away with the committee. The rules are written basically so that you can use either a harness or handholds.”  
  
“So you’re not going to wear a harness?”  
  
Dean shrugs. “What, and tie myself to this fiberglass death trap _again_? No way.” He checks the rigging again. “I should look into getting straps made to go on your wrist, like a safety line but is still easy breakaway…” He zones out, starting to design it in his head. In fact, if he has time before the race he might rig something up…  
  
“Dean.”  
  
He snaps out of it, and blinks up at Cas. “Yeah? What?”  
  
“I know that sounds like a good idea, but we don’t have time to implement it now.”  
  
Cas knows him so well. “Yeah, good point.” People are starting to launch, so Dean heads down to the ramp and snags a dolley from one of the rival teams. If they launch late and get in early, then they’ll have time to use someone else’s dolly and have it back where it belongs before anyone notices. He and Cas transfer the boat from the trailer to the dolley, then get in the long line of boats getting ready to launch.  
  
This race has teams coming from the entire Chesapeake Bay. The people here are probably gonna go on to run in the olympics, or race in the America’s Cup. Dean’s never really cared a whole lot about winning, but it’s important to Cas. Plus, how cool would it be if the guys from the worst club in the bay win the race?  
  
“Here we go, moment of truth.” He reaches out to shake Cas’s hand. “See you on the other side, man.”  
  
“I’m going to be with you the entire time. Why are you--”  
  
“Oh, just shut up and shake hands.”  
  
Cas looks at Dean like he just asked asked him to do a striptease in front of a crowd of almost-but-not-completely blind people, but he still does it. Dean grins at him.  
  
“Alright, you gonna let me be dramatic now, or are you just gonna keep killing my mood?”  
  
“I suspect that it’s going to end up being the latter.”  
  
Dean chuckles and looks off to an imaginary camera like he’s in The Office. “Well, at least he’s honest.”  
  
Then they’re next up to launch. _Showtime._  
  
******  
  
The first race went pretty well. They got second place, which is better than anyone was expecting from them, considering the quality of their rig.  
  
They get a great start on the second race, actually getting ahead of the pack for a brief moment on the upwind leg. The other boats catch up quickly though, and it’s becoming apparent that their crappy boat really is slowing them down. The wind is picking up though, and the stronger the wind, the better they do.  
  
They lose two places on the downwind leg, and neither one of them is happy about it.  
  
“Come on, Cas. We gotta--”  
  
“I know, Dean,” Cas snaps. “Coming around.”  
  
Then they’re headed back upwind, and they’ve got maybe two or three tacks to pass two fast boats. Cas is a brilliant tactician, and Dean knows that if they lose now, it’s on him. The wind is heavy enough now that he has to run on the trapeze, and as soon as he gets himself out over the water, all the racing stress falls away.  
  
This is why Dean sails. It’s not about the wins, it’s not about having a nice boat to show off how much money you have, and it’s definitely not about proving himself to anyone. It’s about this, the feeling he gets when he’s suspended above the water by nothing but a chunk of rope and his own upper arm strength.  
  
Except the boat is still going over. Dean’s out as far as he can go with this setup, and they’re still losing the battle. It’s just like before, with the storm. They’re going to go over, and there’s nothing--  
  
Then Dean gets an idea. It’s absolutely crazy, and no one’s done it before, but it could work.  
  
Except he doesn’t get the chance to try it, because the boat suddenly levels off with a speed that surprises the hell out of Dean. He almost loses his grip and falls into the water. But he can see the mainsail flapping gently above his head, and knows that Cas must have let it out in order to keep them from capsizing.  
  
Thankfully they’re not the only ones using this strategy, but they’ve lost the chance to get ahead.  
  
They finish third.  
  
After finish, they go off to the side somewhere to wait for everyone else to get through the course before they can get back on the starting line.  
  
Dean lays back inside the boat and looks at Cas. “What the hell, man? Why’d you bail? We had it!”  
  
“Dean, we were going over. If I didn’t let up on the sail, we would have capsized and it would have cost us the entire regatta.”  
  
Dean sighs. Cas is right and he knows it. “Well, I’ve been keeping track of the standings, and we ain’t blown it yet. There’s one more race, and if we place first, we got it.”  
  
Cas is partially zoned out, probably planning a strategy. “We got what?”  
  
Dean chuckles. “The regatta, dude. We get first in this, we can win the whole thing.”  
  
Cas nods. “Alright.” He sighs. “The wind is too heavy now to use the sails’ full potential, so we’re going to have to--”  
  
“Ride the edge, yeah.” Dean doesn’t feel like listening to Cas’s whole speech. “Look, I’ve got a plan…”  
  
******  
  
Bobby Singer sits on the committee boat, watching the race with interest. He’s not here to talk about his golfing plans or show off his new two-hundred-dollar boat shoes like these other yahoos on this boat, because he actually believes that there’s more important things. Things like actually watching the goddamn race.  
  
It’s the third and final race, and there’s still a couple boats that can win it. All from AYC, of course. Big shocker. Except then he actually reads the board, and realizes that there’s a team from Miles River that still has a chance. They’d have to get first place and one of those other boats that Bobby doesn’t really care for would have to get third or lower, but these boys actually stand a chance.  
  
Bobby knows he’s not supposed to be biased, but he kinda likes these two. There was something about the way that they didn’t play by the rules that made him see some kind of promise in them. He’ll never let it affect his judgement, of course. He’ll flag ‘em down just as easy as any other asshole that thinks it’s okay to screw everybody else, but that doesn’t change the fact that in his head, he’s rooting for them.  
  
So when they come around the leeward mark for the final upwind leg in third place, he’s almost disappointed. At least, he is until he hears one of the other committee members yell, “What the hell are they doing?”  
  
And Bobby can’t help but smile, even when someone else looks and calls back, “They still haven’t taken down their spinnaker! They’re blowing it.”  
  
Bobby doesn’t think so. No, he sees two boys that were met with unfavorable conditions, so instead of just trying to muscle their way through it, they think up something else. It’s a shame that this thing is set up so that no one can do any forward thinking, even when that’s what wins in real life, but these boys haven’t broken any real rules yet.  
  
Honestly, he doesn’t see why every single person on this boat has to start flipping out, because it makes perfect sense. Why take the short path if you’re only using a sail and a half when you can go a little out of your way and get the power of three?  
  
He watches as the Miles River boys pass one boat, then come up behind the other. But they’re pretty damn close to the line now, and Bobby can hear the other guys debating over which one is going to hit it first.  
  
The debate continues even after they’ve crossed the line, but when they check with the boat on the other side of the line, they get their answer. They have their champion.


	9. All Good Things Must Come to an End (Or Something)

“So.” It’s been over a week since they won the Junior Olympics and now the summer is over. Almost everything has been worked out at this point. There were two trophies, so no issues there, and the talent scouts had turned them down. Something about how they took too many risks, that they had to play by the rules if they wanted to move on. Whatever. It’s not like Dean could’ve done well in the actual Olympics anyway.

There’s only one more thing that has to get worked out before the end of the summer, but it’s a hell of a biggie and that’s why Dean’s been putting it off until now. But tonight’s the last night, and there’s no more procrastinating.

He and Cas have just left the Miles River clubhouse, which is where the sailing banquet was held. It was a fun thing: eat some shitty baked ziti, listen to a few speeches, stuff like that. But it’s over now, so he and Cas are laying in the field side-by-side, staring up at the stars.

“What happens now?”

Cas sighs, but says nothing.

“Summer’s ending, man,” Dean continues. “Then you’re off to Stanford, and I’m here going to the local community college.” It’s not exactly next-door. “So we… what? Do the long distance thing? Still act like we’re together even though we barely talk, ‘cause you’re bogged down with work and I’m too lazy to make the effort. And then one night I get drunk and stupid and I’m in a dry spell so I sleep with some girl I barely know. You find out, you get pissed.

“We break up.

“And now you’re single again, and you’re pissed at me ‘cause I cheated, and ‘cause when they cute guy you liked asked you out you turned him down, ‘cause you were with me. And now he’s with someone else.”

Dean sighs, then rolls over to look at Cas. “Look, I like you, okay? So I’m not saying I don’t want us to be… You know, _together_ , because… yeah.” He bites his lip, hoping that Cas knows what he means. “But it never works.”

“There’s no way to know that for sure,” Cas says quietly. “We can’t know unless we--”

“You don’t get it, man. I _do_ know. I’m stupid, and I would just screw it up.”

Cas is staring at him now. He’s staring with those eyes that were as blue as the ocean, and other sappy shit like that. If he were Sam, he’d probably be writing poems about those eyes, comparing them to the sea and the stars, how they’re unlike any color Dean’s ever seen, how they always seem to shine no matter how low the light.

“Dean…”

“Come on, Cas. You know I would.”

“But that doesn’t mean…” Then Cas trails off, and it’s the first time since Dean’s known him that he doesn’t have some kind of snappy comment, that he isn’t surrounded by an almost annoying amount of confidence.

“Look, and who knows?” Dean continues, knowing that Cas is upset. “If it’s really meant to be, then the universe’ll make sure we meet again, right?”

Cas looks at Dean for a long moment, then gives him a rare smile. “Yes.” Then he leans in and presses a soft kiss to Dean’s lips before standing up. His father is there to take him home.

“Our paths will cross again, Dean.” Then he turns and walks out of Dean’s life, possibly forever.

Dean knows he should be sad, and a part of him is. But more than that, he’s filled with a sort of hope. He can’t help but smile at the phantom tingle of Cas’s lips pressed softly against his own. It’s a promise.

“Yeah, I’m counting on it.”


	10. Epilogue

\- Three Years Later -

“Jesus, Sammy, why couldn’t we just leave this thing the way it came?” Dean is standing in Sam’s new dorm room, supporting the weight of the entire bedframe while Sam takes a ridiculous amount of time to figure out how to get the damn thing lofted.

“Because, Dean. Then there’s no room to do anything. This way, we can fit a desk under here, maybe some extra storage…”

“You have too much stuff.”

But eventually Sam figures it out, so Dean decides that after all that work holding it up, he gets to be the one to test it out. He flops onto the shitty mattress and lays there recovering while he watches his brother finish unpacking.

Sammy’s going to college. It’s unbelieveable. He used to be such a goofy little kid, barely able to open a water bottle on his own. But now he was tall and muscular, not to mention super smart. He’d have to be, to get a full ride at Stanford.

But it also occurs to Dean that this is the end of a lot of things. It’s been the two of them for as long as Dean can remember, but now that little kid is going to college. He’ll be living here, having his own friends, his own life. He’ll meet a girl, get a job, and Dean will just be back in his apartment, alone.

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean says with a grin as he sits up. Time to stop thinking about depressing shit. “Let’s go hit a bar. I need a drink.”

“Dude, I can’t drink yet.”

“Yeah you can,” Dean says, jumping off the bed and handing Sam a fake ID. “Going away present. Make good choices.”

“Dean, I’m going into _law_.”

Dean grins. “Yeah, I know. But you gotta break a few now, see where the system fails. Come on, Sammy. Quit being a bitch.”

“Well maybe if you quit being a jerk--”

There’s a knock on the door. Sam looks at Dean as if to tell him to behave himself, then opens it.

“Hello,” says the man on the other side. “I’m going to be your resident assistant for this semester. My name is--”

“Cas.”

Cas looks up at him, and the moment their eyes meet, time stops. There’s nothing but this. Everything else has fallen away, until the only thing left in Dean’s world is those eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes that are so unreal that Dean’s convinced himself that they were never really that bright, that he just made that up. Except they are real, and they’re staring right at at Dean with the same intensity that he remembers.

Then Dean recovers himself. Cas got the last word back then, and there was no way Dean was gonna let him start first.

He grins at him. “See? I told you.”

Cas smiles at him. It’s a soft smile, one that’s a little stiff from disuse, but still genuine. “Hello, Dean.”

FIN


	11. The Glossary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want to reiterate that although a lot of the physical locations I used were real, none of the people are based off real people (unless the sppn characters were but they're not mine and therefore not my problem.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I understand that not everyone is a sailor, and I tried to give it just enough jargon to feel authentic, but not enough to completely overwhelm the reader. I explained some things but other things I didn't. Here's a list of all the terms I can think of that would need defining, but if I've missed any feel free to let me know in the comments and I'll add them.   
> To find a specific word use Ctrl + F on PC, Cmd + F on Mac, and a scroll bar on mobile.

420 - The kind of boat Dean and Cas sail. It's about 14 foot long, has two sails, main and jib, with an optional spinnaker. 

Skipper - the sailor in charge of the boat. The equivalent of Captain in smaller vessels. In a 420, this person is in charge of the main sail and the steering, as well as navigation and course planning. 

Crew - The person or people that take direction from the captain or skipper and do basically everything that makes the boat go. In a 420, there is only one crew person. They're in charge of many things, including the jib, keeping the boat flat, sail shape, spinnaker, and a bunch of other things.

Opti - A really tiny kind of sailboat, lovingly referred to as 'floating bathtubs' by everyone who used to sail one of these. They're the introductory boat for kids learning to sail. Technically they can be sailed up to the age of 16, but most kids go to other kinds of boats before they get that old. Opti is short for Optimus Pram (not Optimus Prime).

Lazer - Another kind of small sailboat, about the same size as a 420 but only one sail. The racing class for this is a lot more popular because it only requires one person, it's cheaper, and requires a lot less thought and intelligence.

Turtle - When a boat has turned completely upside down. 420s are very difficult to flip back over. See capsize.

Capsize - When a boat tips over completely. It does not have to go completely upside-down to be capsized, it just has to be laying on its side. The rigging is usually in the water. See turtle.

Rigging(v.) - The act of preparing a boat for sailing, typically includes getting the sails on.

Rigging(n.) - The mast, boom, sails, and lines that make the sailboat work. This is all the stuff that gets to be messed with to make the boat utilize utilize the wind in the best way possible.

Sail - The big white thing that catches wind and (hopefully) makes the boat go.

Mainsail - The biggest sail. There's a longer, more technical definition for large boats, but for our purposes, let's say it's just the sail that's attached to both the mast and the boom. If there's only one sail on the boat, this is the sail. 

Jib - The second sail. There’s many different kinds of jibs and a whole long technical definition, but for our purposes it’s the sail farthest forward (unless the spinnker is up, in which case the jib is the one in the middle.)

Spinnaker - The third sail. It’s the only one on a 420 that gets raised or lowered while actually out sailing. It cannot be used while going upwind. It’s basically a giant plastic bag that you hang in front of your boat and is different from all other sails on all other boats. It’s usually colorful. Often shortened to ‘spin.’

Line - The technical term for a rope. If a rope is doing anything other than sitting in a ball somewhere collecting dust, it’s not a rope, it’s a line. 

Sheet - Not a bedsheet. A specific kind of line that adjusts sails and makes them tighter or looser depending on the wind direction. 

Halyard - A specific kind of line that pulls sails up and down the mast. 

Main sheet - The line that controls the main sail; changes the angle based on the wind direction. 

Jib sheets - The lines that control the jib, changing the angle of the sail based on the wind direction. Yes, there are two, one for each side of the boat, but only one is used at a time (usually).

Spin sheet - This is one line that controls the angle of the spinnaker based on the wind direction, but it attaches to the sail in two places and is fed around the whole boat. One side changes the angle, the other side keeps the sail full, kind of like a kite. 

Main halyard - The line that pulls the mainsail up the mast. Not used while actually out sailing. 

Spin halyard - The line that pulls the spinnaker up the mast. 

Spinpole - An extra piece of rigging that only goes up when the spinnaker is up. Basically it holds the sail open so that it can collect air. 

Rudder - The board that comes off the back of the boat that turns it. 

Daggerboard - The board sticking out of the bottom of the boat in the center, keeps it from going sideways through the water. It can be pulled up out of the boat if it gets stuck on the bottom or if it’s not needed. 

Tiller - A pole attached to the rudder that functions sort of as a wheel, but with one major difference. If you want the boat to go left, you have to put the tiller to the right. One of the first things I learned in sailing was the phrase “Tiller towards trouble.”

Tiller extension - An extension of the tiller (no shit). It folds open and closed, and allows the skipper to sit forward in the boat, but still turn without hitting anything with the tiller. 

Mast - The pole that sticks straight out of the boat, supports all sails. (Larger boats can have more than one mast but that gets complicated so we’ll ignore that fact.)

Boom - A pole attached to the mast and the bottom of the mainsail, supports the main sail. (On larger boats there can be more than one sail that has a boom, but who cares about larger boats?)

Shroud - A cable that comes from the top of the mast to a specific point on the boat that keep the mast upright. On a 420, there are three. One in the front and one on each side. 

Spreaders - A crossbar that goes on the mast, usually between halfway and two-thirds of the way up. They push out the shrouds so that they connect with the boat at the proper angle (or something like that. All I know is that they like to grab on to the mainsail when I’m trying to take it down and it’s a pain in the ass).

Gunwale (pronounced gunnel) - The side lip of the boat, where the skipper and the crew sit. 

Hiking, hiking out - A technique in sailing where you lean back and put your weight outside the boat in an attempt to counterbalance the force of the wind tipping the boat in the other direction. 

Hiking straps - Straps inside the boat that you hook your feet under in order to hike out. If they break while you’re using them, you better hope there’s no jellyfish, because you’re going for a swim. 

Trapeze - A system on lots of the bigger of the small boats, used when the wind is too heavy hor hiking. You connect to the boat on cables that go up to the mast, then you basically stand up with your feet on the side of the boat and your body parallel to the water. Note: This is banned at MRYC, having been deemed as too dangerous. I personally think that that’s bullshit but it means that this is the one thing I personally have not done.

Trapping - The act of using the trapeze. 

Trap harness - The harness for the trapeze, goes on the oustide of your life jacket. 

Trap hooks - At the end of the cables that are used in the trapeze. The harness hooks to these. When not in use, they’re stored connected to this bungee thing so that they don’t swing around and hit the crew in the head all the time. They should be rigged for a quick release.

Heeling - What it’s called when the boat is leaning over to one side or the other. You may also hear the term ‘listing’ but that’s generally for larger boats. 

Tack (v.) - The process of turning the boat where your sails change sides because you’re now on the other side of the wind. For it to be classified as a tack, the front of your boat must have pointed directly upwind at some point during the turn. See gybe.

Tack (n.) - Describes what side of the boat your sails are on. For example, if you’re on port tack, the sails are on the starboard side.

Roll tack - A more advanced technique of tacking where the crew throws their weight from one side of the other during the turn. This makes the turn smoother and helps maintain some of the momentum that is lost during the tack. 

Gybe (pronounced (and sometimes spelled) jibe) - The process of turning the boat where your sails change sides because you’re now on the other side of the wind. For it to be classified as a gybe, the front of your boat must have pointed directly downwind at some point during the turn. See tack.

Beat - The name of the formation of sails when you’re sailing upwind. 

Reach - The name of the formation of sails when you’re sailing across the wind. There’s three classifications of reaches, close, beam, and broad. The exact definition of where one ends and the other begins is somewhat blurred, but closest to the wind is a close reach, closest downwind is a broad reach, and a beam reach is somewhere in the middle. 

Run - The name of formation of sails when you’re going downwind. 

Upwind - The direction the wind is coming from.

Downwind - The direction the wind is going. 

Fore - Forward in the boat; in front of you.

Aft - Backward in the boat; behind you.

Starboard - The right side of the boat if you’re in the back looking forward.

Port - The left side of the boat if you’re in the back looking forward. 

Windward - The thing that’s more upwind. 

Leeward (pronounced lew-ard) - The thing that’s more downwind.

Rules of the Road - The rules that determine which boat has the right of way in a particular case. The boat on starbord tack has right of way over port tack. The tiebreaker is the leeward boat has right of way over the windward boat. If there’s no overlap, the foreward boat has right of way over the aft boat. Violation of these rules will get you a penalty in a race. A good racer knows the rules of the road, and how to use them to their advantage. 

Right of way - The right to continue on your course and make the other boat move out of your way.

Sculling - A process where you turn move the tiller back and forth repeatedly as a form of propulsion. Also known as cheating. 

Kiting - A downwind process where you purposely tilt the boat over in order to get the jib higher up in the air. Only done if there is no spinnaker. 

And if there are any I've missed, let me know in the comments (or you can look it up on wikipedia, it's usually pretty accurate).


End file.
